


Fic: Ghost in the Machine

by TristansGirl



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-15
Updated: 2011-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TristansGirl/pseuds/TristansGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam's lonely. Not desperate. Lonely. So he buys a companion; a replicant designed especially to meet one's sexual needs </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

First thing we need to get straight is this: I am not desperate.

I’m not. I consider myself a pretty decent-looking guy. I’ve got the tall, dark and handsome thing working for me. Plus, I’m a nice guy. I’m a good listener; I can make people laugh. I’m what people would consider a good catch.

You’d think that I’d be able to find a decent guy to settle down with. Hell, I’d even settle for a decent date every once in a while.

But the problem is, and yes it’s a problem, that I’m a singer who just happens to be a little bit rich and a whole lot famous.

And it’s not that I’m complaining, mind you. Professionally, this is the life I’ve always wanted. It’s just that it’s hard to find a guy who’s into me for me. Lately, every guy I meet has turned out to be a money-hungry fame whore who couldn’t care less about me.

So, you see, it’s not that I’m not desperate.

But I will admit to being a little lonely.

And that is the only reason that I’m even entertaining the idea that Brad, my brutally honest ex-boyfriend turned friend, is throwing out right now. It’s a rare slow day at home and we’re sitting out in the backyard, drinking margaritas as if our lives depended on it.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I think I’d feel so skeevy. Like being a john, but only twenty-four, seven.”

Brad rolls his eyes at me. “They’re not prostitutes, Adam. They’re companions. They’re not just for sex, you know.”

“They’re mostly for sex.”

“Not necessarily. I mean, yes, you can have sex with them, but you can also dress them up and take them out, you know, for arm candy. You can have them give you a massage or listen to you when life gets shitty and you need a sounding board. You can power them down if they’re not needed, and best of all, if you ever get bored, you just trade them in for a newer model.”

“Ok, now that just sounds mean.”

More eye rolling from Brad. “They don’t have feelings. You can’t be mean to something that has no feelings.”

I look down into my glass of alcoholic slush. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, it’s been awhile since anyone decent’s come along and yeah, I’m kind of in a dry spell, but I’m not desperate.”

“Ok, first of all, you _are_ desperate. It’s been six months since you’ve had sex – that counts as desperate.”

“It’s only been four!”

“Honey, when it’s been that long, it’s just semantics.”

“It’s only been four,” I say, pouting a little, I know, but I can’t help it.

“And secondly, it’s not pathetic to own a replicant anymore. Katy Perry got one just last week. So did Gaga. Oh, and Snoop Dog!” he says, snapping his fingers in the air. “He was parading her around just two days ago.”

“You lie.”

“I saw it on TMZ.”

I shrug, knowing that to continue with this conversation/debate will be futile. I will lose. With Brad I usually do. Besides, he’s right. Replicants are becoming more and more common now, and the stigma that was once attached to owning the companion model (the ones made specifically for sex, no matter what Brad claims) is diminishing.

“It still feels like I’m desperate,” I finally say. “I should be able to find my own boyfriend. I shouldn’t have to buy one.”

Brad shrugs. “Fine. I was just trying to help you.”

“Well, don’t. I can find a man the old-fashioned way. “

“By picking them up in trashy bars?”

“Exactly.”

And to that we laugh, clink glasses and drink up.

~~~~~~~~~~

 

And that was the end of that. Except that it wasn’t, because here I am, in a Replicant Center only three weeks later. I’m in a luxurious office, sitting across from this tiny older lady who keeps insisting that I call her Paula.

“I’m a little nervous about this,” I admit. “I’ve never owned a replicant before.”

“You’re going to love it,” she says. “This new series is the most advanced ever; so lifelike you’ll forget your companion isn’t human.”

I sincerely doubt that, but I don’t say that out loud. Something tells me I would hurt Paula’s feelings.

“So, Adam,” she says, “let’s talk about building the perfect companion for you!”

I’ve never met someone as enthusiastic as this woman. I’m half-expecting her to pull out some pom-poms and start cheering. I manage to smile gamely. “Let’s do it.”

We spend a good two hours together, going over so much information, I’m pretty sure I’m on overload by the time we’re done. We start by looking through pictures and discussing the physical attributes that I’m looking for in my companion. Then we move on to skill sets. Apparently, all replicants are programmed with the ability to understand language and to converse. They’re also programmed with the knowledge equivalent of an average high school graduate. Then depending on what kind of replicant they are, they’re programmed with select skills appropriate for what they do. For example, Paula tells me, a replicant who works construction knows how to build things.

As for a companion, well . . . they know how to have sex.

All replicants have the ability to learn, at least on a small scale, and they can be programmed with some skill sets, but you can’t give them too many, otherwise their brains will explode. My words, not hers.

Paula looks at me and smiles. “So, what two skill sets would you like it to have?”

Skill sets? I have to think of skill sets now? And I here I thought this was going to be nice and simple. I flounder for a moment before remembering my conversation with Brad. “How about massage? Can they do that?”

“Of course. They can do shiatsu to deep tissue and everything in between. And what would you like for the second skill set?”

I lean back in my chair and try to think. And then it hits me, a bolt from the blue. I am a singer after all. “Can you have it play an instrument? Maybe guitar?”

“Ooh, no, sorry. That’s too complicated a skill set. That would have to be its primary function.”

I try not to look too disappointed, but I’m pretty sure I’m not pulling it off. That would have been kind of cool. “I don’t know . . . how about driving?”

Lame, I know, but I was on the spot.

“That’s a great one!” she says brightly, jotting it down. “Now, let’s talk about a replicant’s needs.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night I sit in bed, glass of wine in hand as I look over the manual that Paula sent me home with. She suggested I read it from cover to cover to learn as much as I can about my new purchase.

After almost an hour of this, I pick up the phone, set down my third glass of wine and call Brad.

“You have turned me into a pervert,” I say. “A desperate, pathetic pervert.”

Brad isn’t even fazed. “Do tell,” he drawls.

“I bought a replicant. Excuse me . . . a companion.”

“No shit! Really?”

Now I’ve got his attention.

“Would I lie about this?”

“Details! Give me details! When, where, how? Can I come see it? And when I can borrow it? I can borrow it, right? I mean it was my idea.”

“First of all, it’s not here. It takes six weeks to make it. And no, you can’t borrow it. You can watch me being a pervert from afar. It would serve you right.”

“Bitchy. Are you drunk? You’re always bitchy when you drink.”

“I’ve had a couple. Did you know that you can recognize a replicant because of the metal band welded around their wrist? Part of it’s actually attached to the metal underneath their skin.”

“Um . . . everyone knows that, Adam.”

“Well, did you know that they have no pupils? That’s why they all have brown eyes, so it doesn’t freak people out.”

“Yeah, I knew that too. Don’t you have anything juicy to impart?”

“I’m drunk,” I say, probably unnecessarily.

“Yes, I know,” he says. “And you’re boring me. Call me in the morning when you’re awake and interesting.”

He hangs up and I follow suit. I’m not sure what that accomplished. I still feel like a weird, sick pervert. I sigh before picking up my glass of wine and opening the manual back up.

I have a lot to learn and the drunker I am for it, the better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As it turns out, the waiting is hard.

It helps that I’m super busy right now. Between interviews and photo shoots and concerts and planning the tour, I’ve always got something going on. It helps to keep my mind off of the fact that every day brings me closer to bringing my companion home.

And then I get the call. And, ok, maybe I drop everything, cancel my appointments for the day and jump in the car to get to the Center.

It still doesn’t mean that I’m desperate. Just . . . curious. I spent a lot of money on this guy. This thing. Whatever.

I don’t see Paula today. Instead, I’m directed into a private room with nothing in it but a few chairs. I sit down in one of them and wait.

I’m only there for a few minutes before the door opens. The first person to walk in the room is a woman. She’s pretty and blonde and probably a little older than I am. The second person to walk through the door isn’t technically a person at all. But it is probably the most beautiful creature that I’ve ever seen, machine or no. If I saw a guy walking down the street that looks like this, I’d be impressed and I’d definitely do a double take. But this . . . this is on a whole other level.

I mean, I created him. It. Whatever. Ok, maybe not with my own two hands, but he is my vision. I feel like that guy in the myth . . . Pygmalion when he first looked upon his statue come to life. He’s everything I wanted, everything I picked out. He’s small, shorter than I am and slender. He’s got these perfect kissable lips and a strong jaw and great cheekbones and these hands . . . manly and strong when the rest of him seems so delicate.

I wanted him to be a little funky, a little different, so he’s got this mop of blonde hair cut in an asymmetrical style, the bangs dropping across his forehead, trying to obscure one eye. I’m drawn to them, those eyes; doe-shaped under long, dark lashes that any self-respecting woman would kill for.

The woman doesn’t even bother to introduce herself. She merely says, “Mr. Lambert, I’d like you to meet your companion. We’ve named him Thomas Joseph, but we usually call him Tommy Joe or Tommy for short.” She says it with affection, like she’s a proud mom or something.

“You named him? It?”

She frowns. “We named _him_. But you can change his name. He won’t mind. Will you, Tommy?”

Tommy shakes his head slightly. “No, Susan.”

“Go say hi to your owner, Tommy. Say hi to Mr. Lambert.”

Tommy walks right up to me and tilts his head back just enough to look me in the eye. And . . . oh man, he’s even more gorgeous up close. How can that be when my perspective only changed by about ten feet?

“Hello, Mr. Lambert.”

I’m pretty sure I stop breathing for a moment.

“Um . . . you can call me Adam.”

He blinks, looks down before looking back up at me; big, brown eyes all innocent guile under those sinful lashes. “Hello, Adam. You’ve come to take me home?”

Oh, it just got warmer in here. And my pants just got tighter. And, as much as I hate to say it, I’m going to owe Brad big-time.


	2. Chapter 2

So . . . awkward.

That’s about the only word I can think of to describe this situation. I’m sitting in the car with my new companion, and despite my having given him the skill set, I’m the one who’s driving. Meanwhile, he . . . it . . . oh, hell, I don’t even know, is sitting in the passenger seat, staring out through the windshield as if LA is actually interesting.

Normally, I’m pretty good at making conversation with people I’ve just met. But all the usual fallbacks don’t apply here. Things like, ‘what do you do for a living or where are you from,’ don’t really work in this situation.

So, yeah . . . awkward.

But still, I’m going to make this work. After all, I’m Adam Lambert. I won a televised singing competition during its most cutthroat year ever, for crying out loud. If I can beat out three Jewish princesses, two corn-fed southern boys, two firefighters and one Peace Corps volunteer, then I can do this.

“So, what should I call you?” I ask, figuring it best to start with the basics. “Tommy? Thomas?”

He turns toward me and gives me a smile that’s sweet but a little vacant. “Whatever you would like, Adam.”

“Well, which one do you like?”

The smile disappears as he tilts his head to the side. “I can’t answer that question.”

“Why?” I ask. Then it hits me. Oh yeah, no likes and dislikes. I could call him Dumbo and he wouldn’t care. Not that I would.

“Well, I’m gonna go with Tommy, ok?”

“If it pleases you. “

And that right there is the extent of my small talk repertoire with replicants. And when the silence becomes unnerving, I turn on the radio, punching the button for my favorite station.

After about three songs, one of my own songs comes on. I’m about to change it, not a big fan of listening to myself on the radio, but Tommy leans down toward the console, giving that odd little head tilt again.

“Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” I punch a button and change the station.

“Do you not like how you sound?”

“It’s not that. It’s just . . . you know, weird to listen to myself when I’m not working. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding slowly. “Yes, it does. It implies that you don’t have narcissistic tendencies.”

I don’t bother telling him that he has that bit of knowledge wrong, that everyone in the entertainment has narcissistic tendencies. It’s like a prerequisite or something. Instead I just nod and smile and focus on driving and the rest of the ride is spent listening to anything on the radio that’s not me.

When we get to the house, I take him inside and give him a nice long tour. I also do a lot of staring at him as we go, some of it sneaky, some just flat out eyes bugging out staring. It’s hard not to, he’s so damn pretty. And, I think, with an odd flush of both pride and embarrassment; he’s all mine.

We end the tour where we started it, in the living room.

“So, that’s it,” I say. “That’s the whole house. And I know that your room is a little dull right now but we can make it look nicer. I can decorate it. Or get people to decorate it for me. I know people.”

Oh god, am I babbling? I think I’m babbling.

He steps closer to me, really close and looks up at me. He’s doing that thing again, where he looks up at me from under those sinful lashes and gives that vacant, soft smile. “You’re very kind to decorate it for me. Very kind.”

And then his hands are on my hips, strong hands just like I wanted, and he’s sliding them up under my shirt. For some reason I expected them to be cold, but they’re not, they’re warm and they feel very real and very good as they fan out over my ribcage before inching up higher and higher.

“Whoa,” I say as I step back, holding my own hands out as if to ward him away.

“Is something wrong, Adam?”

Is something wrong? Now, that’s an interesting question. I’m standing in my living room with a raging hard on and a companion that I created for the express use of turning him into a prostitute. Wrong isn’t exactly the word for what’s happening, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what is.

“Am I being too aggressive? Would you prefer submissive?” And then Tommy slides to his knees with all the grace of a dancer and does that lashes thing again, except that this time he’s not really looking at me at all. “You can do whatever you want with me, Adam. Just tell me what you need.”

For the record, this may be the only time in my life where I’ve actually regretted having morals and a conscience. I mean here is this gorgeous guy and he’s on his knees and he’s basically saying, ‘have at me,’ and all I can think is that I feel like some dirty pimp in a porno. And not even a good porno at that.

“Ok, you know what?” I say as I begin to back away. “Just hold that thought.”

And then I run out the room and into the bathroom like the biggest pile of chickenshit that ever existed.

I pull my cellphone out of my pocket and call Brad, only to get his machine. Fuck.

“Brad, this Adam. Crap, I don’t know what I’m doing. Tommy, the replicant’s here and he’s on his knees being all sexy but I feel so weird about this and I don’t know what to do and-”

I hear the click of the machine being turned off and then Brad’s voice very excitedly asking, “What? He’s there? Now? Can I come over?”

“Did you screen me?”

“I screen everybody when I’m about to watch the Vampire Diaries. You know this. Ian Somerhalder trumps you any day, Adam. Unless you have your gorgeous companion and you’re going to let me come over and take a look.”

“Did you not listen to a word I said? I’m freaking out over here.”

“You’re freaking out because a pretty, young thing wants you to fuck him senseless? Yeah, Adam, I’m just not seeing the dilemma.”

I grip the phone tighter. “Ok, you know what-”

I fully intend to finish that sentence, but the bathroom door opening distracts me and I lower the phone from my ear.

It’s Tommy and he’s still on his knees, almost as if he crawled all the way over here, and oh lord, why is that hot? I must be worse off than I thought.

Tommy inches closer, placing one hand on my thigh. “Adam?”

“I gotta call you back you back, Brad,” I say before ending the call.

I look down at Tommy and try to take a step back. “Um . . . Tommy . . . “

“Am I not pleasing to you, Adam?” he asks, doing his best impression of a cat, twisting his arms around my legs, one hand firm on my ass, the other settling near my groin. “Am I not what you wanted?” he mouths against my jeans, breath hot enough so that I can feel it on my skin.

And oh man, it’s hard to hold onto a moral dilemma when someone’s doing that.

Tommy tilts his head back and blinks up at me, his lips parted and shining as if he just ran his tongue over them and asks, “What can I do to please you, Adam?”

It’s at this point that my moral dilemma gets tossed out the window (I’m only human, right?) as I haul him to his feet, wrap my arms around him and kiss him.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing that pops into my head is that this guy is one damn good kisser.

It’s not even a fully formed thought really, more something visceral and powerful and under its power, I wrap my arm around his waist to bring him in and keep him still.

As I tilt my head to the right, he tilts his to the left, his mouth opening under mine, his tongue teasing at my lips. When I become more forceful, he yields to it, his knees buckling, his body bending and arching until I know that I’m the only thing holding him up.

It feels amazing and I lose myself in it; the way he tastes, the curves of his soft lips against mine, the way his hands clutch at my arms, as if he is desperate to hold on to me. And then, he makes this low moan in the back of his throat, hungry and wanting, and it’s sexy as hell and it should be making me want to throw him down and fuck him senseless but instead I just freeze. It’s the equivalent of someone pouring cold water on me, that moan, and after a moment I try to pull away.

Try is the operative word here because Tommy follows, lips chasing mine as he straightens.

I hold my hands out and give him a very gentle shove as I finally disengage. “Whoa. Stop. Ok? Stop.”

He does stop, instantly, as if I’d just thrown a switch. Then he just stands there looking at me. Not confused, not hurt, just . . . looking. It’s a little bit creepy, if I’m being honest. Which, yeah, honest is about the only way I know how to be.

“What’s wrong, Adam?”

I wipe the back of my hand across my lips before speaking. “You moaned.”

“I . . . moaned?”

“Yeah. You moaned like you were enjoying it, but I know you can’t. That was in the manual. I know that you don’t really feel. So, it got weird. I’m sorry. I just feel so weird about this.”

“I can feel things,” Tommy says. “I can feel sensations.”

“But not like I can, right?”

Tommy shakes his head, just once, from side to side. “No. Not like you.” He pauses. “I don’t understand, Adam. I thought you wanted me. You knew what I was when you bought me. You made me.”

“Well, yeah, but . . . “

“Are you unsatisfied? Do you want to take me back?”

Oh. That question stops me in my tracks. I’m reminded of that old saying, ‘marry in haste, repent in leisure’. Although in this case it’s more like, ‘buy a replicant in haste, repent in leisure’. See, this is why no one should ever impulse shop.

“What if I did?” I ask, although I’m not sure that it’s what I want at all. “Take you back, I mean. What would happen to you?”

He gives a small shrug and the gesture looks so human that it almost makes me doubt that he isn’t one. “I don’t know. I was made to your specifications. I suppose it’s possible that they would try to sell me to someone else. I don’t know.”

And then a thought hits me, and it’s a dark one and I almost don’t want to ask but I have to know.

“They wouldn’t destroy you, would they?”

Another slight shrug. “Possibly. I don’t know.”

“And that would be bad, right? I mean, you don’t want that, do you?” I feel stupid asking, but what do I know?

“Adam, I am, to a certain extent, a sentient being. I am self-aware. So, no, I don’t wish to be destroyed.”

I take a moment to think about that, about how even a replicant doesn’t want to die. Is it really possible for something that’s been engineered in a lab to value its own life?

Meanwhile, Tommy walks up to me and places a hand against my chest lightly, as if he’s afraid the touch will scare me away.

“Is there something else I can do for you? I am a companion. I’m can do other things besides give sexual pleasure.”

I pull away from the heavy thoughts and struggle to think. “You can give me a massage, right?” I ask, struck by inspiration. “You’re programmed to do that.”

“Yes. I’m very good at massage.”

I grab onto that like a drowning man reaching for a lifesaver. A massage will feel good and it will make Tommy feel useful and it’ll give me time to get over this whole ‘skeevy pimp’ issue I seem to be having. Oh, this is brilliant. This is good. “Ok,” I say. “Well, I could use a massage right now.”

We move into my bedroom and I lie face down on the bed.

I can feel the mattress shifting under me as he climbs onto it, then . . . well, a second later, he’s on top of me, his body straddling my lower legs.

Huh. For all that metal inside of him, he’s lighter than I thought he’d be.

“You should take your shirt off, it will feel better,” Tommy says.

“But then I’d be shirtless.” Oh man, did I really just say that? What is it about being around this guy that makes me forget how to use words?

“That would be the point, Adam,” he says, and I swear I can hear the smile in his voice; a real smile, not the fake, vacant ones that I’ve seen from him.

That surprises me. Do replicants even have a sense of humor? As I shuffle out of my shirt, I try to remember if I read about that in the manual but I can’t come up with anything.

A moment later, that thought is chased away by the feel of Tommy’s hands, strong, and capable, on my skin.

He’s just as amazing at this as he was at kissing and in a few seconds I’m moaning in the best kind of pleasure/pain while he works out knot after knot in my back. Hell, he’s getting rid of knots that I didn’t even know I had.

After what feels like hours (he doesn’t tire, which is a bonus), he stops and leans down to whisper against my ear. “How was that?”

I feel like jelly. Literally, like my bones feel like they’ve turned to jelly and I can barely murmur out a, “that was fucking incredible.”

“Good,” he says, and I can feel his weight lifting as he pulls away and settles down next to me. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I look up at him. As close as he is, his eyes are disconcerting. Would it really have been that hard to give replicants pupils? Somehow I manage not to look away.

“No, thank you, Tommy.”

He nods. “I’ll go then. Unless you want me to stay?”

“No, you should probably go.”

I watch him leave, then close my eyes and sigh. What did I get myself into here? And how do I get myself out of it? Do I sell him? Give him back? Maybe I can give him to someone I know will take good care of him. Maybe Brad?

Ok, no. Bad idea. Worst idea ever.

Do I know anyone else that would appreciate Tommy? The answer to that one is an emphatic, ‘just about everyone I know’. But, do I trust any of them with Tommy?

Eventually, I turn over onto my back and get ready to get up. As much as I would like to, I can’t just lie here forever. There are phone calls to make and dinner to think about and a busy day tomorrow to get ready for.

I make a promise to myself to think about the Tommy situation and to not make any hasty decisions this time around.

I will be a responsible adult about this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the end of the day, I slip into bed, exhausted for some reason that I can’t comprehend.

I try to sleep, I really do, but sometime around one in the morning I realize that it’s not really working. I get up and walk to Tommy’s bedroom, turning on the hallway light as I go so that I don’t fall and hurt myself.

I take tentative steps inside until I’m standing by the side of the bed, probably looking like every serial killer in every movie ever. There’s just enough light coming from the hall to let me see.

Tommy looks like he’s sleeping, which, in a way, I suppose he is. Humans sleep and replicants recharge, that’s the way it works. I lean down and brush away a lock of hair from his forehead, my fingers sliding across his smooth skin. He’s on his back, hands loose at his sides and he looks so young and innocent. And so real.

Except for the fact that his chest doesn’t rise and fall.

Crap! Why did I have to notice that? Crap!

I turn my eyes back to his face and try not to think about the ‘not breathing’ thing. I bring my hand up to his cheek and cup it, feeling the warmth and softness of him.

I can’t give him away, I realize. I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do with him, but I know that I can’t give him away. It would be like . . . like a mother giving away her child because he’s not exactly as she had envisioned.

Ok, that’s not a good analogy, but you get the picture.

I don’t even realize that my hand has moved and that I’m running my fingers through his hair until he stirs and his eyes open. He looks right at me and says my name, making it a question.

“Sorry. Go back to sleep. Or back to recharging. Whatever you want to call it,” I say.

“Do you need something? Do you need me?”

“No, really, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep, ok?”

He closes his eyes, so obedient. “Yes, Adam.”

I wait a few minutes, until I’m sure that he’s fallen back into his restorative state (the manual’s wording, not mine), then I whisper to him. “I’m going to figure this out, ok, Tommy? I just need a little time. But I’ll figure this out.”

I turn away and get ready to stand when I hear Tommy’s voice, small and nearing shut-down. “Ok, Adam.”

But when I turn around, his eyes are closed and he appears completely out.


	4. Chapter 4

I’m not proud to admit that I spent the next three days basically ignoring my companion. I know, I know. I feel really shitty about it, but I just haven’t been able to deal with the . . . what’s the word? Weirdness? Yeah, I keep coming back to that, don’t I? The weirdness of it all. Call it buyer’s remorse maybe, but I just needed some time.

And anyway, it wasn’t as if I was completely evading him or not manning up to my responsibilities. I’ve also been busy. Really busy. Did I mention that the tour’s starting in just over a week?

That’s right, my first solo tour. Sometimes when I think about how much is riding on this, I almost make myself sick. And while I’m not one for paranoia, I know that a lot of people are just holding their breath and waiting for me to fail. And I, for one, am not going to let that happen. Hell, I think I’d almost rather go back to being the fat, ginger kid in a sea of beautiful people than let that happen.

So, you can see, there’s a lot to think about and there’s always something going on.

Like tonight for example. We’re filming the video for the latest single from the record; filming in the middle of the forest from eight at night until six in the morning.

Ok, it’s a park, but it looks like a forest, so it’s close enough.

It’s Monte, my guitar player, who comes up with the idea. “Why don’t we come over to your house and hang, get some practice time in before we go film the video? And then afterward, we can all just ride up together.”

Yeah, so you can see the sex robot I have sitting in my living room? I don’t think so, Monte.

“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I say.

“Why not? Is something wrong?”

I hesitate, trying to think up a good lie that will squash his idea. But before I can come up with anything, he says, “Hey, man, is something going on? Cause you’ve seemed a little out of it lately.

Damn it! He always was too perceptive for his own good.

I hesitate again, this time weighing the pros and cons of telling him the truth. Unburden myself vs. being a laughingstock. Unburden myself vs. being a laughingstock.

In the end, the decision’s actually pretty easy. I’ve known Monte for years; back when we were in a rock band together and struggling to make something of ourselves. I consider him a friend and I know that I can trust him with this.

“See, the thing is Monte, I did kind of a stupid thing and I bought a, um . . . well, I bought a replicant.”

“No shit!”

“Yeah. And he’s at the house, so . . . ”

“No shit!”

“You already said that.”

“Well, now we really have to come over. We’ve gotta see it.”

“Yeah, Monte, except, see . . .” I lean in to him and whisper. “He’s the companion model.”

Monte’s brow furrows for a moment but then he gets it. “So? Is he naked and hanging from the ceiling on a sex swing?”

“Um . . . no.”

“Then there’s nothing to be embarrassed about if that’s why you don’t want us over,” Monte says. “Come on, in fifty years, replicants are going to be everywhere. It won’t even be a big deal. Mark my words.”

I sigh but I can feel a smile coming on right behind it. “Well, ok then. Tell everybody to come by the house.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That conversation took place at 10:00 am in a Denny’s. Don’t ask. By 2:00 pm, Monte and the rest of the band, Cam on keyboards, Jake on bass and Longineu on drums, are at my house.

A few months ago, when we really started clicking both as a band and as friends, they started leaving some of their gear at my house for moments like this; impromptu practices without having to go through the trouble of booking practice space. So now they’ve been over to my house more times than I can count, their instruments are completely taking over my other guest room . . . and I love every minute of it.

Tommy’s sitting on the couch, his face expressionless as I let everyone in.

“Guys, this is Tommy,” I say as we all walk over to him. I haven’t exactly had time to go shopping for him, so he’s wearing the same clothes that I picked him up in. His hair’s styled and he’s sitting up very straight, hands in his lap, and he’s managing to look both scorchingly hot and terribly naïve at the same time.

Cam makes a beeline for him and plops herself down next to him. She smiles sweetly and says, “Hi, Tommy. I’m Cam. I play keyboard in Adam’s band. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Cam.”

As the rest of the band introduce themselves to him one by one, I realize that I feel a little like a proud parent, watching as their child impresses the other adults. Except of course that Tommy’s no child, not by a long shot.

Once everybody knows everybody, Cam says, “We’re gonna go practice some of Adam’s songs. Do you want to watch?”

Tommy looks up at me, eyes widening slightly. I know what he’s doing, what he’s saying without saying it. He’s asking me if it’s ok. He’s asking for my permission. My heart does this little skip/jump thing and I place my hand over it to settle it.

Now where did that come from?

“Come watch us play, Tommy,” I say. “You can be our audience of one.”

He smiles at me, looking almost grateful. “Thank you, Adam.”

About an hour in, we take a five-minute break. Monte grabs me by the arm and leads me out into the hallway.

“So, that’s your companion?”

“That’s him. What do you think?” I drop my voice to a whisper. “Do you think I’m a pervert?”

“Adam, I always thought that you were a pervert. This doesn’t change anything. As to what I think of him – he’s really fucking hot. Speaking as a guy who’s not into guys . . . he’s really fucking hot.”

“I know, right?”

“You did good, man.”

“Thanks.”

Our moment of bonding over hotness is interrupted when Cam walks up to us. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she looks serious. Not a good sign.

“Adam, if you don’t mind my asking - what does Tommy do all day when you’re not home?”

“Um . . . I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Well, does he clean? Mow the lawn? Watch tv? Anything?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know. Why?”

“Because I think he’s bored, sitting here all day waiting for you. Have you noticed how happy he is when we’re playing? How much he’s digging the music?”

“Cam, the music doesn’t make Tommy happy. Nothing makes Tommy happy because he has no feelings. He’s a machine.”

“Well, I’m telling you what I see and I don’t think it’s right to leave him here by himself for hours on end.”

“But . . .”

“I think you should bring him to the video shoot.”

“What? Why?”

“He’ll enjoy it. It’ll be good for him.”

“Adam doesn’t want it getting out that he bought a replicant, Cam.”

Monte to my rescue. I could kiss him right about now.

“Well, I dare you both to go in there and look at that sweet, little face and tell me that we should leave him here all night by himself.”

Monte and I look at each other.

“Go on, I dare you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

So, Tommy comes to the video shoot with us.

I walk Tommy over to the edge of where we’re filming. “You’ll be ok here, right?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? Because I can probably find somebody to take you back. Or you can drive back home and then come get me later.”

“I’ll be fine.” He pauses, looking at the ground before raising his eyes almost shyly. “And this way I can see you be a rock star.”

I chuckle at that. “Ok, prepare to be amazed.”

“I will be,” he says, right before he kisses me. It’s nothing crazy, just a brush of his lips against mine, but I can feel an electricity run through me and I shiver from the surprise of it. My heart does that skip/jump thing again, but this time it’s for a completely different reason.

“Ok,” I say, voice just a little too high. “I um . . . I’d better go now.”

As I turn, I feel Tommy’s hand on my arm.

“Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For bringing me here.”

“You’re welcome, Tommy.”

Before either one of us can say any more, I hear Lane, my assistant, yelling at me to get my ass in gear. Oh how I love her.

“I’d better go. I’ll talk to you later, ok?”

“Ok.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When we come to a break in the filming, I pretty much ignore everybody and head over to where I left Tommy, curious to see what he thought of the performance.

Except that he’s not there.

I walk further, searching for him as I go. I catch sight of him after a few minutes; of that bright, blond hair that I picked out for him.

I can see that he is no longer alone, that in fact he’s surrounded by quite a few people; some men but mostly women. They look like . . . oh my god, they are.

Fans.

For some reason, the entire scene reads as vaguely threatening and I move a little faster. As I get closer, I can better see what is happening. I can see that some of the women are touching him, their hands caressing his chest, his arms, his face. Some of them are playing with his hair, their fingers buried in the long fringe that falls across his forehead.

I can hear them too, their delighted voices coming to me as I draw near.

“He looks so real, doesn’t he?”

“He’s so pretty. Oh my God. I would kill to have this in my house.”

“Do you feel this? Marie, touch him here, he’s so soft.”

And all the while, Tommy’s just standing there, looking completely unperturbed by the fact that he’s starring in some bizarre, updated version of Deliverance.

I get as close as I can to them and yell for Tommy, making sure that my voice is loud enough to be heard over their babbling. I’d go up there and pull him away but it’s not safe to be around that many of my fans without some kind of security. I learned that the hard way about four months ago. I still have nightmares and the residual scarring to prove it.

Tommy hears me and turns his head in my direction. “Adam?”

“Get over here, Tommy,” I say, making it a command. “Now.”

I’m already walking away when I say it, but I do turn around once to make sure that Tommy’s following. He is.

Once we’re back in the safe zone of the video crew and extras, I grab hold of Tommy’s wrist and pull him close. I look him up and down, patting him on the chest and arms, searching for damage. “Are you ok? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Tommy shakes his head. “No, Adam. I’m fine.”

Of course he’s fine. He’s a replicant, not a person. So why am I asking? I take a moment to think about that, to think about why it bothered me that those people were touching Tommy like that. Before I can come up with an answer, I’m called back to set by Lane.

I turn to Tommy. “Listen, stay close to me, ok? You can’t be in the shots, but stay as close as you can without getting on camera. Whatever you do, don’t go back to those women.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“No,” I say. I run my hand over his hair and watch as he leans into my touch, almost as if he were craving it. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at those people who felt the need to feel you up like that.”

“Oh, I see.” He tilts his head to the side. “You were concerned? About me?”

I let out a small chuckle. I can’t help it; he’s really adorable when he does that head thing. “Yes, apparently I was concerned. Now, come on,” I say. I take hold of his wrist again and pull him along as I walk back to the set. “Don’t overthink it. Just stay where I can see you at all times, ok?”

“Ok.”

I look back just in time to see Tommy’s face break into a smile. Strange, how for something that has no feelings, he can look so happy.

And shit, what do you know? My heart’s doing that skipping thing again.


	5. Chapter 5

So after our fairly successful experiment with Tommy, I decide to start taking him more places.

We go to a photo shoot, an appearance on a talk show and band practice. Lots and lots of band practice.

He’s gotten the hang of staying away from the fans now. Or, well, I tell him to stay away from them and he listens.

Of course, it doesn’t take long for the story that Adam Lambert’s got a replicant to get out. In fact, it’s TMZ that breaks it, those sneaky bastards. Caught us coming out of the talk show studio. They were hiding behind a bush. Can you believe that?

At first there was speculation that I’d finally managed to land a boyfriend, but eventually people started to come forward and talk, and the media put two and two together that Tommy is a replicant. Not that it was too hard; the guy’s got no pupils for god’s sake.

At least the headlines aren’t as bad as I imagined. Maybe it’s because I’m famous and famous people are supposed to do crazy things like own robot sex slaves. And while some of the fans freak out a little, most of them are supportive.

Of course, this opens the floodgates on the phone calls. Suddenly everyone I know wants to come over and see Tommy.

I kindly and politely turn every single one of them down. It’s not that I don’t trust my friends, far from it actually. It’s just that after that night in the forest (ok, park), I’ve become a little protective of Tommy. I mean, I know he’s a machine and all and he technically doesn’t have feelings, but he’s also not something to be showcased and put on display.

So, I field the phone calls from friends, from acquaintances. And my parents - and let me tell you – that one was awkward.

But there is one friend I invite over to see Tommy

Yes, that’s right, Brad. He’s the reason I got Tommy in the first place. I figure I owe him at least that much.

So, the night before the start of the tour, I invite him over to hang out.

When the doorbell rings, I pat the top of Tommy’s leg and say, “My friend’s here, Tommy.”

“Brad?”

“Yeah. And listen, don’t let him scare you. He’s a little out there, but he’s harmless. Mostly.”

“I don’t get scared,” Tommy says, so matter-of-factly that it throws me for a second. From anyone else, it would sound cocky, but not from Tommy. He just tells things as they are.

“No, you don’t, do you? But sometimes you should, you know? Sometimes it’s good to be scared.”

Tommy nods. “Yes, being frightened keeps you alert for danger.”

Before I can respond, because he gets it but he doesn’t really get it, I hear the doorbell again.

“I’ll be right back, ok?”

“Ok.”

Predictably, when I open the door for Brad, he bounces right past me and makes a beeline for Tommy.

“Oh my God, Adam. Seriously?”

Tommy makes a move to stand, but Brad beats him to it by plopping himself down on the couch next to him. After a brief moment of hesitation, Tommy settles back in.

I close and lock the door before making my way over to them. “Seriously, Brad. And it’s nice to see you too.”

“Whatever. I see you all the time. It’s this tasty, little morsel that I’m interested in.”

“Brad, you’re talking in clichés again.”

Brad tears his stare away from Tommy long enough to face me. “It’s fricking gorgeous. Not exactly my type but I wouldn’t throw it out of bed for eating crackers.” He pauses for a moment. “But it doesn’t eat, does it?”

“He,” I say, blurting it out without even thinking.

“What?”

“He. Tommy’s a he not an it.”

Brad gives me a look; the one that means he thinks I’m being slightly ridiculous but he’s going to let it slide. “Oh. Ok. Well, he. He’s gorgeous. You did good, Adam.”

I’m standing over them at this point, watching as Brad’s hand reaches out toward Tommy. I can see how his fingertips graze the line of Tommy’s jaw to touch the soft skin there.

Not skin though, I remind myself. Not really.

“He looks so real,” Brad says, voice hushed with what almost sounds like awe. “He feels so real.”

“I know,” I say. “I know he does.”

My voice seems to break whatever spell Brad was falling under. He drops his hand away from Tommy’s face and straightens, shaking his head as if he were clearing it. “Um, so anyway . . . can I borrow him?”

I know Brad well enough to know that the question is just for show. He may be fascinated by Tommy, may find him attractive, but he wouldn’t want to use him, not if he belongs to me.

It’s not that he recognizes Tommy as a person, but more that he recognizes him as mine.

“No.” I smile when I say it, just enough to make sure there’s no sting there. Then I turn to Tommy. “Tommy, this is Brad. Like I said before – harmless.”

Tommy gives him a small smile. “Hi, Brad.”

“Hi, Tommy.” Brad turns to me, waggling his eyebrows like some old pervert. “Cute voice too. What is that, vintage surfer boy?”

“You’re an ass,” I say, grabbing him by the arm to pull him into the family room. I shout out to Tommy, telling him he can either stay there or go to his room, whichever he prefers.

Then Brad and I proceed to get nicely toasted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Three hours later, I’m saying goodnight to Brad, giving him a big hug as we stand at the door.

“You’re gonna be great, you know. Seriously, this tour is going to make you a star and all those haters are going to suck it.”

“Suck it?”

He looks up at me, as serious as I’ve ever seen him. “You’re going to be amazing.”

“What if I blow it?” I ask, throwing out my worst fear. “What if I suck so badly that everyone hates me and no one buys my albums and I die a penniless whore in the street?”

Did I mention that I’m a little drunk?

Brad, who’s more sober than I am, is still doing that sincere, serious thing. He kisses me on the cheek and whispers, “You’re going to rule the world one day, Adam. Believe in yourself as much as I do, ok?”

I kiss him back, just once, softly on the lips. It’s times like this that I wonder why things didn’t work out between us. It’s times like this when I wish desperately that they had.

“Ok,” I whisper back.

And then he’s gone, but not before promising that he’ll see me on tour, bitch and threatening me with severe bodily harm if I don’t get him backstage passes.

I close and lock the door behind him, leaning against it heavily. I’m tired and a little sad. And kind of dizzy. Damn, how much did I drink?

Eventually, I push away from the door and walk over to where Tommy’s sitting. He’s still on the couch, exactly where Brad and I had left him. Over the course of the night, we’d checked on him a few times, but he never seemed inclined to move, even when I suggested again that he go to his room.

I join him on the couch and stare unashamedly. I’m probably drooling but whatever. He’s really pretty today; dressed in the new clothes I bought for him – tight jeans and a black shirt that contrasts beautifully with his pale skin.

He looks yummy and I’m in a mood so I move close, watching him as he watches me.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course you can, Adam.”

“Did it bother you, when Brad touched you like that? When those women the other day were touching you and talking about you like that?”

“No. It didn’t bother me.”

“Would it bother you if I told Brad that he could borrow you?”

“No.”

I don’t even know why I’m asking these things. Maybe it’s the alcohol; maybe it’s the nervousness before the tour. Maybe, probably, it’s seeing Brad and missing him in my life. Whatever it is, I’m feeling curious and somehow a little dangerous, like I want to test edges.

“Why not?” I ask. “Why doesn’t that bother you?”

“Because then I would be fulfilling my purpose.”

There he goes again, speaking so matter-of-factly that there’s no room for doubt. In a way I envy him that. Does that sound weird, that I envy my replicant? How he doesn’t have doubts, how he doesn’t question? He just is. He just knows.

“To have sex?” I ask, pushing things just a little but further.

“That’s only part of my purpose,” he says, giving the slightest of headshakes. “My true purpose is to please you. If it pleases you to give me to someone else, then that’s what I would do. I would go with them because you wanted it.”

I lean back just a little. “You’re programmed to make me happy?”

“Well . . . yes.”

Huh.

“So if I told you that I wanted you to lie down on the front lawn, completely naked, you would?”

“Yes.”

“And if I told you that I had a few friends coming over and that I wanted you to like, service them, you would?”

“Yes.”

“And if I said –“

“Yes. Adam, the answer’s yes. It’s always going to be yes.”

Huh.

“So, if I told you right now, to be aggressive. To act like you want me . . . ”

“I would. Is that what you want?”

“Yeah,” I say, because, what the hell? There’s a part of me that wants to see that again. “Do it. Let me see aggressive.”

It’s almost instantaneous, the change. He twists his body so that he’s facing me completely and then he’s moving up, one hand on my shoulder, the other at the back of my neck. His teeth are nipping at my earlobe, tongue snaking out to lap at it before he moves away just long enough to growl, “Want you, Adam. Want you so bad. I need you inside me.”

Holy fuck. It’s like grabbing hold of a live wire. My body just reacts and I want. God, do I want. He sounds so genuine, his voice breathless with need, and I almost fall for it. I can see myself grabbing him and throwing him down on the couch, pinning him beneath while I ravish him, while I give him what he’s begging for.

But I don’t. Somehow, I don’t.

I pull back, putting some distance between us and manage to choke out, “Ok, now let me see submissive.”

And that’s almost instantaneous as well. He backs down, places his head against my chest, placing an open-mouthed kiss against the fabric of my shirt. His hands settle on my thighs, fingers teasing as they run up and down my leg.

“Please, Adam. Please.”

This is beyond me now. I don’t know what I’m doing or what I’m hoping to accomplish. I feel like a puppeteer and with that comes a rush of power, heady and strong. “More,” I say, running my fingers through his hair, tugging hard as he arches into it. “More submissive.”

This time Tommy slides down from couch, not stopping until he’s sitting on the floor. I let go of him and watch as he gets his legs under himself so that he’s kneeling, placing his hands behind his back as he bows his head.

I wait, my breath caught in my lungs, my muscles tense.

“How can I please you, Master?”

It, all of it, is erotic and hot and touching and . . . sad, all at the same time.

And it just kind of drives it home for me that whatever it is I think I’m doing here, I shouldn’t be doing it. He’s not a toy. He’s not a puppet and though he is mine, he’s not mine to control. At least not like this.

I reach down and, grabbing his arm, use it to pull him up until we’re both standing. “Ok. Don’t. It’s ok. Stop.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“Just . . . just show me Tommy. Can you do that?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, Tommy. The one I’ve been hanging out with for the past few days.”

He drops his head and says something, so low that I barely catch it, but I do.

 _Tommy is a construct_.

And yes, Tommy is a construct, but he’s more. Even I, as dense as I’ve been, know that. If he were nothing more than a machine than I never would have reacted that way to those women in the park. I would have let Brad borrow him and I would have turned him into a circus attraction for my friends.

I lift his head with a touch of my fingers. “Can I kiss you?”

Because this, this is what I want right now. No more stupid games. Just this.

Even if it’s not real.

“You never have to ask, Adam.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes.”

The first time I kissed him, it was lust-filled and powerful and raw.

This time around it’s sweet and gentle. Slow enough that it feels like I’m drowning in it. I can feel his hands come up to my chest, the palms flat against it as if he wants to touch but is hesitant to.

When I break away, I feel breathless. Lost.

And he’s just staring up at me with those beautiful, strange eyes.

“Adam?”

He sounds almost unsure, making me want to soothe him.

“Sh, pretty boy. We need to get to bed, that’s all.”

“Tour tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yup. Tour tomorrow. Big tour tomorrow.”

He nods then snuggles in against my chest. God, he’s a good snuggler. “Thank you for taking me with you. I would have been lonely here all that time without you.”

I wrap my arm around him and start to steer us toward our separate bedrooms. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Tommy.”

It's only later, much later, that I wonder about that last statement of his.


	6. Chapter 6

So, it turns out that Brad was right.

Ok, maybe not about me ruling the world. At least not yet anyway. But the tour is a success.

What can I say? We’re twelve shows into a twenty-four city tour and I am kicking ass and taking names.

And it feels pretty fucking amazing.

We make room for Tommy on the bus and he when we play, he watches every single one of these shows from the wings. The night of the second show, he asks me if he can go into the crowd, but that, I decide, would be a horrible idea. There’s something about him, a vibe or an aura, that draws people to him. And while most of those people aren’t going to hurt Tommy, some of them might and I’m not about to take that chance with him.

Am I being overprotective? Over someone that really doesn’t need for me to be overprotective?

Maybe.

But hey, I’m an artist. No one’s ever accused an artist of being logical. Look to the mathematicians for that.

So anyway, we’re twelve shows in and tonight happens to be our first hotel night. I don’t think I can properly describe the level of excitement that we’re all feeling. Buses, as you may or may not know, are not the most comfortable places in which to sleep and as much as I love my band, this boy could use some alone time.

Except that . . . crap, I won’t be alone, will I? I’m going to have Tommy with me.

Unless . . . unless Tommy stays on the bus.

I quickly discard that idea; that’s just mean.

But maybe he can room with one of the other guys in the band. They all love him anyway; they’d get a total kick out of it.

It’s a brilliant idea that’s probably going to work out for everybody . . . so why do I feel kind of guilty?

Well, whatever. I can live with a little guilt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

We decide to hang out at the hotel’s bar. Sounds relatively boring, I know, but we’re all ten kinds of exhausted and we’ve got another show tomorrow that we have to kill.

So, after tonight’s show we all go to our rooms, agreeing to meet up downstairs in an hour.

Tommy would normally be with me, but Cam absconded with him to her own room with a sly smile and a promise of a ‘really bitchin’ surprise’. Her words, not mine.

I take my time getting ready, luxuriating in the awesomeness that is having my own room. I do my hair and my makeup to perfection and pick out the clothes that accentuate my good features (great ass) and hide the not so great (a very slight tummy).

Not surprisingly, I’m the last one down to the bar. I walk up to my little group and loudly announce that I’m here.

I look at them in turn as they face me. My band. My crew. Jake. Longineu. Monte. Cam. Tommy.

And holy shit.

Tommy.

Ok, you know how in the old cartoons, the eyes would bug out of a character’s head when they saw something they liked? Well, I’m pretty sure that I’m doing that now.

See, what Cam has done is to turn Tommy into literally the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Cam has teased and fluffed his hair, making it into a blond halo. His eyes are rimmed in kohl, the lids of them sparkling green, his lips shiny and bubblegum pink.

He looks mythical and fey; an elf from a fairy tale, so beautiful that you can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman. So beautiful that it doesn’t matter.

“So, what do you think?” Cam asks. Of course she already knows; she can obviously see my reaction. Hell, I’m pretty sure that I’m hyperventilating over here.

“Jesus, Cam, he’s . . . oh god, he’s . . . um . . . ”

“Uh huh,” she says, saving me from sounding like a complete moron. “Well, don’t just stand there stuttering at me. Tell him.”

I turn back to Tommy and damn, if looking at him isn’t a little like looking into the sun. I know that sounds corny, but he’s so pretty it almost hurts.

“Um, Tommy, you look . . . I mean, wow, you are . . .”

“Do you like it?” Tommy asks, thankfully interrupting. I hate it when I babble. “Cam said you would.”

“I love it. You look . . .well, there really are no words for how amazing you look right now.”

“Really?” Tommy asks, turning to Cam before I can answer. “He likes it.”

Cam laughs. “I know. Just like I told you he would. Five times.”

Tommy smiles and ducks his head. I know that replicants can’t blush, but it’s the next closest thing to it and it’s adorable.

We make our way to a table and spend the next few hours having a great time. We talk, we drink, but mostly we just enjoy each other’s company, happy to be together, happy to be a part of something that feels bigger than ourselves.

Tommy sits next to me in the booth and although he doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, I’m glad he’s there all the same. He really is good at the snuggling thing, and he fits against me so perfectly, tucked up against my side.

By the time we’re all heading upstairs to our respective rooms, I’ve got my arm slung around Tommy’s shoulders and we’re walking as if we’re attached.

We say goodnight to everyone, and I pointedly ignore the way Monte pumps his fist in the air and mouths ‘ride ‘em, cowboy’ at me.

We enter the room and pull apart from each other, and although I initiated it, I kind of desperately miss the loss of Tommy’s warmth.

Oh wait; didn’t I say that I was going to pawn Tommy off on one of the guys?

I did, didn’t I?

Well, shit.

“So,” I say, stumbling a bit before righting myself. Oh yeah, I am definitely feeling no pain. “I think I might really have to go to bed now.”

And just like that, both Tommy and I glance over at the bed. One bed. King-sized, but still only one.

Oh.

This could be awkward.

“I could lie down on the floor,” Tommy says.

That might actually be the best idea, but somehow I don’t like the thought of it. “No. No, don’t be silly. It’s a big bed. We’ll both fit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Come on.”

As I’m saying this, I’m already pulling my shirt and pants off and sliding into bed. Hey, I can multi-task like nobody’s business when it’s time for sleep. And sex. And food.

Well, you get the picture.

I sit up against the headboard and pull my rings off of my fingers, tossing them on the nightstand one by one. And I watch. Mostly I watch as Tommy approaches the bed.

He lies down on it, his hands at his sides, as stiff as the proverbial board.

“Tommy,” I say, moving up to lean my head against my hand. “What are you doing?”

“Lying down.”

“You can’t sleep like that. Or restore. Recharge. Whatever.”

“Yes, I can.”

“No, you can’t. I’m uncomfortable just looking at you. Take off your shoes, your pants and your shirt and try this again. And this time get under the covers.”

He sits up then stands. “Ok, Adam.”

He starts with his shoes, and that’s ok. No one alive can take off their shoes and be sexy. But then he gets to his clothing and everything goes to hell.

He undoes his jeans, sliding out of them before taking hold of his shirt and slipping it over his head and to the floor.

He isn’t even trying to be sexy. He really isn’t. His movements as he undresses are about as mechanical and rote as they could possibly be and it is still one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

He’s beautiful. In case you were wondering. His body is gorgeous, lean and pale and smooth. Beautiful and perfect. Everything I wanted.

So, let me just preface this next part by saying that I can’t be blamed, ok? I cannot be blamed for these next events. I’m under the influence, and I haven’t had any in forever and Tommy’s sitting there looking like a fucking androgynous hot elf and I can’t fucking help it.

He lifts up the covers and slides in under them, just like I told him to. When he turns around and curls his body up, presenting his back to me, I place my hand on his shoulder and say, “Tommy, turn around.”

He does. We face each other, my hand still on his shoulder, my fingers pressing into his skin as I draw him closer.

He obviously knows what’s happening and he moves with me, sliding to me. His lashes flutter as he drops his gaze, only lifting it when we’re millimeters apart.

“Can I kiss you?” I whisper.

He nods. “Please.”

This is our third kiss and it’s unlike either the first or the second. It starts out tentatively, slowly turning and twisting into something else. Something heated and fierce and alive.

For the briefest of moments, I wonder what it is that I’m doing and I consider pulling away and putting an end to this.

But then Tommy moans and writhes against me and I’m pretty much lost to everything except how good this is. And the fact that I want more of it.

There’s so little preparation needed and no need for a condom at all and the thought that I’m about to fuck a machine almost derails me. Almost.

It’s almost a physical thing to push that thought away. Nearly impossible, but I manage it.

Recriminations can come later. Now’s not the time for thinking. Now is about acting and feeling. And right now, this feels so fucking good.

Tommy gasps and arches up when I enter him. He wraps his leg around me to urge me in deeper, his hips matching mine, stroke for stroke.

His nails dig into my skin and he whispers my name before it dissolves into a moan.

“Please, Adam. Please. Please.”

God, he sounds so needy, desperate for me as if he were burning and I’m the only one that can save him.

It’s ok though, because I’m burning too. I grab his hip, hard and bruising. I don’t think I can mark him but I want to try, I want the indents of me on his skin. I want his body to remember mine.

At the end of it, I’m moving in a brutal, punishing rhythm, holding him open as I hold him down.

And he takes it. He takes everything that I give him and he begs for more and the sounds that he makes are filthy, obscene.

Beautiful.

When I come, it’s almost painful and there’s a moment where I think I legitimately black out or lose time or something. It’s like the best drug and worst drug combined, a feeling I know that I’ll never be able to recreate.

It takes me a few seconds to climb down off of the high and when I do, I lower my head to see Tommy smiling shyly up at me.

He is quite a sight. His hair is disheveled, his eyeliner smudged and smeared, the pretty pink lipstick all but gone. He looks wanton and used.

And beautiful. Always so beautiful.

I roll off of him and pull him in close so that we’re spooning, his back to my chest. A perfect fit.

Somehow I manage to turn off the lights before my eyes start to slip closed.

I kiss the back of Tommy’s neck, the soft slope of his shoulder. “Mine.”

“Yes, Adam.” He shifts against me, his arms curling around my own. “Yours. Finally yours.”


	7. Chapter 7

At some point last night, the thought of recriminations crept into my mind. I do remember that, but I also remember being able to brush all that aside in the heat of the moment.

Basically, I was too caught up in being horny to actually use the head that sits on top of my shoulders.

Today . . . well, today reality hits.

I wake up a little after ten to find that Tommy is apparently still recharging. He’s curled up on his side, his body turned to me, his head against my chest. His hair, in all kinds of disarray, is tickling my nose and I can’t resist smoothing it down before sliding out of bed.

I head straight for the bathroom, and after taking care of business; I stand and glare at myself in the mirror for a while.

It’s recrimination time.

I start with the standard, “What the hell were you thinking, Adam?” before moving on to the ever-popular, “Now you’ve gone and fucked up everything, asshole.”

The mirror me, of course, just stands and returns my glare, giving me no answers. Selfish fucker.

I’m halfway tempted to sneak the phone in here and call Brad but I know that won’t help; he’ll just cheer me on and promise me a drunken night of celebration. What are my other options? I can’t sneak out of the room and go hide in Monte’s until it’s show time. Believe me, if I thought I could get away with it, I would.

So, yeah. Only one thing to do. Man up and face the music.

I walk back into the room to find that Tommy’s sitting up in bed, the sheets pooled around his waist. He’s looking at me expectantly, his face open and guileless. A flash from last night dances before my eyes; Tommy, his head thrown back, his face glowing with the pain of ecstasy.

It’s almost enough to make me forget what it is I needed to say. Almost enough to make me consider jumping back into that bed and fucking him senseless.

“You’re regretting it, aren’t you?” he asks, surprising me by speaking me before I can. He shifts his gaze downward. “I knew you would.”

I take a deep breath and step forward, careful to keep some distance between us. “Last night shouldn’t have happened, Tommy. It wasn’t . . . not a mistake exactly. But it shouldn’t have happened.”

He shakes his head, his blond fringe falling over his eyes before he pushes it out of the way. “Why not?”

Ok, how do I say this? How do I try to explain what even I don’t even understand?

“Tommy, look. This whole rock star thing, it’s mostly just an act. I’m not really like that. I’m not the guy that sleeps with a different groupie every night. Sex is great. Sex is amazing. Last night was amazing, but . . . sex should mean something.”

Oh man, am I even making sense here?

“First of all,” I continue, hoping and praying that I am. Making sense that is. “It should be between two consenting adults, you know?”

“I am an adult,” Tommy says. “And I did consent.”

That stops me cold. He thinks of himself as an adult? It’s then that I realize that I don’t usually think of him that way. There’s something about him, a sweetness and an innocence that reminds me of a child. That’s how I treat him. That’s how all of us treat him.

“No, you didn’t, Tommy,” I say, forcing myself back onto what’s important here. “I mean, you said yes, but you can’t say no. That’s not consent. That’s like, I don’t know, slavery or something.”

“Those are semantics, Adam. I consented. I wanted what happened to happen.”

Am I really doing this? Am I really having some philosophical discussion on what constitutes sexual consent with the replicant that I had created expressly for sex?

Fuck, apparently I am.

“But you didn’t,” I say. “You’re programmed to want it. It doesn’t count if there’s no alternative.”

He’s quiet for a moment, as if taking my words in, as if he’s digesting them. His brow is furrowed and everything and man, do I want to brush my fingertips against his skin to wipe away that look of confusion. I find my hand moving toward him, my feet stepping forward.

Then he speaks and I freeze.

“I didn’t not want it.”

Those simple words and the way he says them, quiet, almost sullen, are what finally get me to move. I cross the distance to the bed and sit down on it, taking his hand in mind.

“Ok, look, it’s not just that. It’s . . . look, I like you. A lot. More than I even thought I would. But, in the end, I want someone who I can love and will love me back. I want something real. I want this with someone who’s real.”

Tommy looks down at our joined hands and whispers, “I am real.”

“Tommy . . .”

And then, just like that, he’s pulling his hand out of mine and standing up, moving away from the bed.

There are no sheets to hide him now. Exposed as he is, I’m struck by the beauty of his pale, lithe body. And just like last night, I find myself staring, ogling. Except that this time, there’s no alcohol to deaden sensation. What I see is everything.

I’m stunned at how real he looks, how perfect every detail is. But despite his assertion, I know that he isn’t real. I know that if I take hold of his cock and tell him to get hard, that he will. I know that if I tell him to go soft only a moment later, he will. I know because the manual told me so. I know that this feature was implemented to satisfy those owners who enjoy bottoming. I know that he requires such little prep because his body was designed to accommodate any size cock.

I know that he will never tear, no matter what you shove into his body and I know that he will never bruise, no matter how hard you hit him or what you use to tie him down with.

I know that I can go down on him and give him the best blowjob ever and that he won’t feel it. I know that he can simulate the most intense orgasm but can never actually have one.

And the knowledge of these things, and so many others, are what kill the illusion. He isn’t real, no matter how much I wish he were.

Because if he were . . . oh god, if he were . . .

“Why did you have me made, Adam?” he asks. “Why make me if you don’t want me?”

“Look, I know, ok? It was impulsive and stupid and I didn’t think it through. I wasn’t thinking about what it would mean. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want you. I want you, Tommy. I do.”

He brings his arms around his waist, hugging tight to himself, and stays silent.

“Look, I just need a little time to figure this out, ok?” I say. “That’s all. Just a little more time.”

“You’ve said that before. You’ve had time.”

And then it hits me. What he’s saying and what I’m doing. Jesus, are we having a fight?

I stand up and walk to where he is. When I place a hand on his shoulder, he flinches.

“Tommy, what’s going on? You sound . . . I don’t know, mad or something. Are you upset with me?”

The change is immediate. His arms drop to his sides and his face becomes an inscrutable mask, eyes going dead where before they had held such a spark.

“I don’t get upset, Adam. I’m sorry. It may be a small glitch that’s making me sound like this. I apologize.”

“No, but I-“

“This won’t require a major overhaul. It’ll be fixed during tonight’s restorative sleep.”

“But . . .”

Yeah, that’s all I can manage to say. A 28-year-old man reduced to stuttering out one-syllable words. God, I feel like I’m back in high school and having a fight with my first boyfriend. Who, by the way, always had to have the last word, the sanctimonious asshole.

Tommy backs away from me. “I should get cleaned up and dressed. We have a long day ahead of us, right?”

“Yeah, I guess, but . . .”

I don’t get to finish, not that I really had any great speech planned. Tommy’s already walking away and heading toward the bathroom. As I watch, he goes into it and closes the door behind him. And it might be my paranoia, but I could swear I hear the lock clicking into place.

I stand there for a good minute before moving. And yeah, it’s a little dramatic but I throw my hands up in the air and shout, “What the hell?”

Ok, it’s not really a shout but the intent is there.

Because, really . . . what the hell?


	8. Chapter 8

So the tour ends on a complete high note. It was a success, almost every venue sold out, and the powers that be are already planning the next tour.

All the money’s in touring now, baby.

It feels good, like a huge victory, but all of it’s dampened by what happened with Tommy.

I’ve tried to talk to him about it a couple of times, but all he does is stare at me with this eerie blank look on his face and say, “Yes, I understand, Adam.”

And to be honest, since we’ve been back home, he hasn’t had any more “glitches”. No more strange moments when it feels like I’m talking more to a person than to a machine.

Fuck, I miss the glitches.

Fuck, I am so fucked up.

A few days back from tour, and we’re settling back in to a more normal life. Yes, I say we. Tommy’s become, in a very short amount of time, an indelible part of my life.

It’s hard to describe exactly what it’s like, this new life with Tommy. It’s a bit like having a pet, but a pet that can talk back to you when you start talking to it. A really beautiful pet that you want to hold down and pepper with kisses and touch all over and . . .

Whoa, Adam. Just whoa. We’re not going in that direction anymore, remember?

Suffice it to say, we’ve become a unit, him and I, with our new, precarious understanding of our roles.

Ok, maybe there’s no understanding at all, but we’re getting there, damn it.

Today, we go to the record store for no other reason than I felt like getting out of the house. I’m on a bit of an unofficial vacation, a few days off before starting back into the rockstar grind, and I’ve been, up until now, pretty much a lazy, housebound bum.

I have Tommy drive so that I can relax, and I find myself looking at him just as much as I do at the passing city. One day, maybe, I’ll get used to his beauty. But for now, it still pretty much takes my breath away. So, I sit and relax and indulge my creepy side by staring shamelessly.

When we get inside, I tell him to go look around, giving him a small kiss on the lips before sending him off to another aisle so I can browse.

It takes me several seconds to feel the weight of the stare of the person next to me, but once I do, my heart starts to do this crazy little dance in my chest. Is it one of my fans? Is it one of my more “enthusiastic” fans? I turn slowly to find a small, older woman standing next to me. She’s seventy if she’s a day and she looks perfectly sweet and harmless. This, by the way, means nothing.

She smiles up at me and says, “Your boyfriend is adorable.”

My boyfriend? What boyfriend? Confused, I follow her gaze to where it lands on Tommy, now standing a couple of rows away and rifling through some cd’s.

“Oh, he’s not my –”

“You know in my day, that wasn’t accepted. A man being with another man.”

I’m not really sure where this is going, but I’m curious, so I just stay quiet and nod.

“I’m ashamed to admit that I thought the same way. But my grandson is gay, and of course, now I realize that I was wrong. It’s wrong to think that way. Love is love.”

It’s not very often that I’m at a loss for words, but I am this time. “Oh, I . . .”

Tommy picks this exact moment to look up from whatever cd he’s looking at and give me a soft, tentative smile.

“I just hope my grandson finds someone that special some day.”

“You think Tommy and I are in love?” I ask, more flabbergasted than anything. “Why would you think that?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not completely obvious. An old woman knows these things, though. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. Although you’re very tentative about it. It must be a new relationship.”

I don’t bother explaining that Tommy is really a walking sex toy. Either she doesn’t see the metal band around his wrist or she’s not really aware of what it represents. After all, she’s sweet, but she’s obviously confused if she thinks either one of us is looking at the other with hearts in our eyes.

“You’re right,” I find myself saying. “We’re pretty new. As a couple, that is.”

“I knew it. Of course you are. You just keep a hold of him, you hear? The way he looks at you, he would do anything in the world for you.”

What I’m thinking is, “he’s not looking at me like anything, lady.’ What I say is, “Yes, ma’am.”

It’s only then that I notice what she’s got in her hand. “An Adam Lambert cd, huh?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s for my grandson. He’s such a fan of his. I thought I would buy him his cd for his birthday.”

Oh, this is delicious. I love it when people don’t recognize me. “That’s very nice of you. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“I hope so.” Then she drops her voice down to a conspiratorial whisper. “I hear he’s gay too.”

“You don’t say.”

“Oh yes.”

I smile this really big, goofy smile. I can’t help it; this woman’s adorable. I’m almost tempted to break cover and reveal myself to sign the cd. In the end, I decide to let it go. I came here for anonymity and that’s only going to happen if I stay quiet. I thank her for her advice before excusing myself and heading over to my ‘boyfriend’.

“Hi, Adam,” Tommy says when I’m at his side.

“Hey, Tommy.”

“Are we leaving now?”

“No,” I say as I link our hands together. It’s mostly for the benefit of my new lady friend but I can’t help to admit that his hand feels really good in mine. “Let’s look around together though, ok?”

He instantly sets the cd down. “Ok.”

We spend nearly two hours in that store, side by side the entire time, holding hands as much as we can get away with. It’s . . . nice.

Different.

Nice. Almost natural.

Almost.

After the record store we come back home and listen to my new purchases before eating dinner. Or well, I eat while Tommy sits next to me on the couch. After that we watch a movie before I declare bedtime.

Tommy nods and stands and we both walk to where our bedrooms are. He says goodnight, already turning for his room but I stop him by reaching out and placing a hand on his arm.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight. Will you come to bed with me?”

His eyes travel down to my hand before moving up to my face. There is no hesitation when he tells me that he will.

I’m not sure that this is a wise move, but fuck it; I’m doing it anyway. And I’m going to blame it on that woman in the record store for making me feel all melancholy and for making me like the way his hand felt in mine.

Inside my room, he looks over at the bed. “Do you want . . . Will we have sex?”

I smile at that, at both the boldness and the innocence of the question. It never ceases to amaze me how there is no pretense with a replicant. They tell it like it is. “No. I kind of just want to hold you. Is that ok?”

“Anything you want is ok, Adam. You never need to ask.”

I run my hand through his hair, relishing the softness and how he leans into the touch. I stay like this for several seconds, mesmerized by the way Tommy closes his eyes and sighs, how his body goes pliant. God, he’s good. Or should I say, the programmers and technicians who made him are good. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he was enjoying every moment of this.

I finally pull away and, let me tell you, it takes a lot of strength to do it. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, why don’t you get in bed? Um . . .take off everything but the underwear, ok?”

Tommy opens his eyes, blinks up at me and nods. “Ok.”

After doing everything one does in a bathroom, I head back into the room, getting rid of all my clothes except for my own underwear. Tommy’s in bed, curled up on his side and facing away from me. I slip in behind him and turn off the light, lying in the dark for a few seconds before I think, ‘fuck it’, and put my arm around his waist.

What? It’s cuddling. I’m not doing anything more than that. There’s nothing wrong with a good cuddle, is there?

“You must think I’m the biggest asshole,” I say to him, my lips brushing against the back of his neck. “Jerking you around like this.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Well, then you must be wondering what the hell my problem is. Why I can’t seem to figure out what I want.”

“I’ll admit that I don’t understand you, but maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe humans aren’t meant to be understood.”

“Not all of them are as confusing as I am. I don’t think most replicants have this many problems with their owners.”

“If I could give you what you want,” Tommy says, shifting against me but not turning around. “I would. I just don’t know what that is.”

“It’s not you, Tommy. I promise. It’s not you. You’re perfect. You’re absolutely perfect.”

“If you say so, Adam.”

“I do.”

I think back to what that lady said in the record store. About how, even though we’re a new couple, she could see that we’re very much in love.

She’s crazy, I think. Not the bad kind of crazy. But old people get crazy, seeing things they want to see. I mean; could she be more wrong? Tommy can’t even feel for fuck’s sake and I’m . . . well, I’m not in love with a robot.

“Crazy old lady,” I mutter. “Sweet, but crazy.”

“What?” Tommy asks. He sounds sleepy. He must be close to shutting down for the night.

“Nothing, baby. Go into restorative.”

I can hear him sigh, so I nuzzle him closer.

“If you need me . . .” he begins.

“I know. Rest, though. I’m right behind you, I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, and I’m back in the work groove. Today I’ve got a photo shoot for People magazine followed by an important meeting with some of the record company executives.

I leave Tommy at home this time, there’s just too much going on and I have to concentrate.

“I should be back around six or so,” I tell him.

Six or so. All right.”

“So, why don’t you watch some tv, ok?”

I always make it a point to give Tommy something to do when I go away - ever since Cam pointed out to me how cruel it was to leave him alone for hours at a time with no stimulus whatsoever.

“Can I watch some of your movies?” he asks.

I can’t help but chuckle at that because I know what he’s really asking. Tommy, it seems, has developed a preference for scary movies. The gorier the better. I don’t have many of them, so he’s been watching the same ones over and over, ad nauseum. I mean, how many times can you watch someone get beheaded with an axe? But Tommy seems to enjoy it. An odd thing considering that he’s not supposed to have any likes or dislikes.

Another glitch, maybe. One that seems harmless enough, so I’m not too worried about it.

“Of course you can. Watch whatever you want,” I say, making a mental note to buy some more horror movies. I’ll have to ask Brad if he knows any good ones. Wait, scratch that, I’m better off asking Monte. Brad will just come up with some artsy, black and white shit with lots of symbolism and subtitles that’ll bore the shit out of everyone.

I tell Tommy goodbye before closing and locking the door, thinking that this is going to be a good day.

It isn’t.

The photo shoot goes well enough I guess, but it’s boring and long. It’s People magazine for crying out loud. They’re not known for edgy. Hell, they’re not even known for interesting But I’m told it’ll be good for both my image and my sales to pop up in something so family friendly.

Yeah, I know. That, ladies and gentlemen, is my artistic integrity take a flying leap out of the window.

Next the meeting with the executives gets cancelled because half of them are down with some sort of food poisoning.

“Look at it this way,” Lane says. “You have the rest of the day to yourself.”

“I guess.”

“So, go enjoy it.”

I think about it for a few seconds. What to do with my free time? I could call up Brad. Or maybe Danielle. Or Cassidy. Or hell, even my mom. When was the last time I just hung out with my mom?

In the end though I decide just to go home. Maybe make some popcorn and watch some of those horror movies with Tommy.

So, I head back home. And I won’t lie – I’m looking forward to getting to surprise Tommy.

The car that’s been driving me around all day takes me back home and I head right for the door, key in hand, already imagining how Tommy will react

I hear it as soon as I open the door and step over the threshold.

Music.

A guitar actually, being played through an amp with just a touch of distortion. It’s not being played all that well, the chords being strummed hesitantly and unsure, but it’s music all right.

As I move through the house I wonder who the hell could have possibly gotten in here. Neil? He’s been known to show up at unexpected moments. And he does have a key. And though he’s good at piano he’s shit at guitar.

If it’s Neil, I’m going to kick his ass. I’m so going to kick his ass.

I open the door to what’s become the music room and step inside, ready to beat my little brother to a pulp.

Except that it’s not Neil.

My jaw literally drops as my mind tries to process what I’m seeing.

It’s Tommy.

Tommy, and he’s sitting on the floor holding one of Monte’s guitars, his strong hands working at the strings. His face is . . . god, I almost can’t describe it. His eyes are closed and he looks blissed out. Transcendent, as if he’s moved into another world.

“Tommy?”

He lifts his head, opening his eyes to stare at me, and the moment seems to stretch into forever. Me staring at Tommy, Tommy staring right back at me, neither one of us able to move or speak.

Then Tommy drops his hands away from the guitar, leaving it dangling on his body by the strap.

He looks down, closes his eyes again, and mutters, “Shit.”


	9. Chapter 9

So, you know how there’s this thing that fish do, mouths opening and closing and they look completely ridiculous, but whatever, they’re only fish?

Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m doing right now; standing at the entrance to the practice room, fish-mouthing like a madman. I continue to do it, even as I watch Tommy stand up, turn off the amp and carefully set the guitar back on its stand.

“But . . . but you’re not supposed to be able to do that,” I finally manage to say, pointing at the guitar and stumbling over my words as if I’m new to speaking. “The lady at the center, Paula, she . . . she said it had to be your primary skill set. I asked.”

Tommy says, “She wasn’t wrong,” before walking up to me, closing the distance between us until we’re only a few feet apart. He tilts his head back to look at me.

“But then how . . .”

“I’m obviously malfunctioning. This isn’t a glitch. This is major. And I kept it from you. I’m sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry.”

“But I . . . huh?” Yeah, I’m still having problems with words. And focusing. I mean, I’m listening to him, but there’s a huge part of me’s still stuck on the fact that I just found him playing a guitar.

Which he’s not supposed to be able to do. Did I mention that part?

“You should call the Center,” he says, voice going very soft. “I’m sure they’ll send someone for me right away.”

This drops me back to full-on reality and suddenly I can talk again. “What? No. I don’t want to call the Center. I just want to find out what’s going on.”

“Adam, there’s something very wrong with me. You need to call them.”

“If I did, what would happen to you?”

“I don’t know. They’d run tests to see why this is happening, maybe? Disassemble me? I don’t know, Adam. Whatever happens, I’m sure they would refund your money to you. Maybe give you a new model. Whatever you wanted.”

Oh, I’m not liking where this is headed. I’m not liking this one bit. “Ok, wait. Just wait. One thing at a time, ok?”

“Yes, ok.” He drops his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

But no, we’re having none of that. I cup his chin with my hand and lift his head up. “It’s ok, Tommy. Just . . . how long has this been going on? How long have you been able to play?”

He tries to turn away, but I’m still holding on to him, my grasp on his chin firm.

“A while now. Since before we left for the tour.”

“Why did you keep this from me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t want to go back to the Center.” He’s looking at me now, meeting my gaze with something that looks an awful lot like defiance. “I don’t want them to take it away from me. I don’t want to be shut down.” His voice drops to a near whisper as he adds, "Even though I know I have to be."

“Tommy, are you scared, honey?” It’s an insane question. A replicant can’t be scared. Emotions are beyond them. But this . . . this feels so much like fear.

This time when Tommy pulls away, I let him go. He walks to the middle of the room and wraps his arms around his stomach.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Logically, I know what fear is, but I’ve never experienced it before. I don’t know.” He turns around. “I think so. Is this what it’s like? To be afraid?”

Oh, wow. Oh, wow. This is real. All of it’s real. His fear, his confusion . . . this isn’t a simulation. These are emotions.

My heart aches for him, seeing him like this. All this time, he’s been dealing with this alone. All this time . . .

I walk over to him and place my arms around him, hugging him close to me, as close as we can possibly get and still be two people. He clings to me just as tightly, his head resting against my shoulder.

“Yeah, Tommy, it is. Not much fun, is it?”

“No.” I can feel him shaking his head against my chest. “Not very fun at all.”

Time passes, though I’m not sure how long. Maybe just a few minutes, long enough for me to realize that although this is nice, Tommy and I need to have a serious talk.

I tell him as much when I pull away and he nods.

I pull up two chairs and we each take one, sitting across from each other so that our knees touch. Then I take the extra step of clasping both of his hands in mine. I’m pretty sure that this is more for me than for him, but I still like to think the contact will be good for us both. Grounding, maybe. Whatever. It feels right.

“Ok, first things, first. I’m not sending you back to the Center, so you can stop worrying about that.”

“But, Adam, I’m clearly malfunctioning. I should go back.”

“No, that’s not going to happen. I’m not going to have you be experimented on or shut down. What is going to happen is that we’re going to figure this out together. You and me. Ok?”

I would have thought it impossible to see relief or gratitude on a replicant, but either I’m going completely nuts or I’m seeing it on Tommy. His hands tighten around mine and he gives me the briefest of smiles, hesitant, before saying, “Thank you. Thank you so much, Adam. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s figure this out, huh? You said you’ve been playing for a while. When did you get interested in it?”

“The day that you let me sit in on rehearsal. Here, in this room.”

“Ok, and how did you learn how to play?”

“I went online and read instructions and I watched videos.”

“For the guitar?”

“For all of the instruments. I wasn’t sure which one I wanted to play. So I tried them all.”

There’s no disguising the sheer surprise in my voice when I ask, “You tried them all?”

“How else would I know which one I wanted to play?”

Replicant logic. I smile for a moment before dropping back into interrogator mode. I swear, all I need is a lamp to shine in his face. “And in the end you picked guitar?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The question seems to confuse him. He’s been answering everything so easily up to now, but at this question he stops and tilts his head to the side before shaking it. “I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

Ok, time for something different, Adam.

“Tommy, I’m going to ask you some questions and I need you to try really hard to answer them. And I need you to be completely honest with me. Can you do that?

His nod is sharp and emphatic. “Yes.”

“What do you feel when you’re playing music?”

Immediately, I can tell that I’m not going to get a good answer. Not with the way that Tommy starts to pull his hands away from mine. I hang on, though. I’m not letting him go anywhere.

“I don’t know. Adam, I don’t know. I don’t –”

“Ok,” I say quickly. “Ok. Another question, huh?”

He nods and I can feel his hands relaxing in mine. “Ok, when you play, do you like it?”

This seems to be an easier question. No freak out this time. This time he sits quietly for only a second before he answers. “Yes. I do.” He gives a brief smile before letting it drop. “I think so. I do.”

“Ok. And the horror movies. Do you like them?”

“Yes.”

“What else do you like?”

He doesn’t even hesitate, giving me the answers quickly now and with ease. “I like your band. And the people that you’ve introduced me to – your family and friends.”

“Really? Even my brother, Neil?”

“Even your brother Neil.”

I give his hands a squeeze and press on. “Anything else?”

“I liked going to the concerts. I liked watching you sing.”

He pauses then and things change. Now he seems shy and uncertain and he mumbles his next words as his gaze falls away.

“And I like . . . I like being with you.”

The words cause an unexpected thrill to run through me.

“I like being with you too, Tommy.”

This brings an immediate smile to his face. And that brings an immediate smile to mine. And if I could keep things like this I would. If I could keep basking in this, in the warmth of his pretty smile and how it’s making me feel, I would. But I can’t. This is too important. Fuck, this is completely monumental, and there are still things that he and I need to talk about.

“Tommy, the day after we slept together, when I said we shouldn’t have done it. Were you upset with me?”

There he goes again, trying to pull away. I hold on tight.

“I don’t know,” he says.

Hm . . . this calls for something a different tactic. “Give me a word. Give me a word to describe that day from your perspective. Don’t over think it, just say what pops into your head.”

He does it immediately. He won’t look at me, but he does it. “Rejected,” he says. Then softly, he adds, “Unwanted.”

I don’t think I can describe the feeling that hearing this brings. Beyond guilt, there are no words for the dark, heavy pit in my stomach.

“Oh, honey. You were hurt. I hurt you. I knew it.”

“Did you? But I didn’t know. I don’t understand this. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

He sounds agitated now, the usual calm of his voice disrupted. I finally let go of his hands and reach for him. I settle my fingers against his cheek, watching as he leans into my touch like he always does.

He’s so beautiful. My miracle. Out of all the replicants being created, mine is a miracle. Mine is . . . alive? Is it too soon to say that?

“That’s ok,” I tell him, “because we’re going to figure this out together. You and me. We’re going to figure this out, ok?”

“Ok. Yes. Thank you, Adam.”

“But you have to promise me that whatever happens from now on, whatever you start to like or dislike or feel, you have to tell me, ok? You have to tell me everything.”

“I will, Adam. I promise.”

“But no one else. No one can know about this.”

He shakes his head, his blond fringe tickling against my hand. “I won’t show anyone. I won’t say anything.”

And that’s that, at least for now. I sit back, letting my hand drop away from him and just take a moment to let this newfound knowledge wash over me.

It’s so crazy. All this time, he’s been moving toward this. All this time and I hadn’t noticed. There’ve been signs, but either I missed them completely or I ignored what they were telling me. All this time and I’ve been such an idiot.

I should be giddy, and I am. After all, my replicant, my Tommy, is turning into a real boy. There’s an excitement there as well, a promise, and if I dare to look further, a glimpse of things that could be.

But there’s something unsettling underneath it all. Something that feels an awful lot like fear. Not for me, but for him. He’s so new to all of this, he really is like a child, and the enormity of what’s ahead of us is daunting.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, my way of trying to get my shit together.

Daunting, I tell myself, but not impossible. After all, I’m Adam Lambert. No, wait. I’m Adam ‘Fucking’ Lambert. I can outsing thousands. I sell out venues. I can rock spats and glitter. I make people wish they were gay men so they could fuck me.

I can do this.

I have to do this. And sure, maybe I’ll get really drunk later and freak out in the privacy of my own bathroom, huddled in the corner while I unload on Brad.

Wait, can Brad be trusted to keep quiet about this? Shit, I don't even know.

Anyway, all that comes later.

For now, Tommy needs me.

“Why don’t you play for me?” I suggest, breaking the silence at last.

There’s no mistaking the longing in his eyes as he glances at the guitar. “No, I’m not very good.”

“Come on. Play and I’ll sing. It’ll be good practice.”

“You’re really not angry with me?”

“No. Not angry. Not even close.”

He stands up and turns, taking a step toward the guitar before he stops. He turns his head to me and flashes a smile. “Thank you, Adam.”

“You’re welcome, Tommy.”

“What should I play?”

“Whatever you want, honey. Whatever you want.”


	10. Chapter 10

“So, Evil Dead or Nightmare on Elm Street?”

Tommy sits on the couch while I stand in front of him. I’ve got a dvd in each hand, waiting for him to make the decision.

And yeah, I’m not a huge fan of horror movies, but Tommy likes them and today I want to do something that Tommy wants to do.

Although, I will admit to having an ulterior motive for this excursion into blood and guts territory. Yes, we’re going to watch a movie, maybe both of them. Yes, maybe we’ll even watch more than the two depending on how the day goes – it’s early after all – but it’s not just for fun. The entire time, I’m going to be asking Tommy questions. Question after question after question until we’re both sick of them.

I’ve been doing this for the past three days, ever since I walked in on Tommy doing the impossible. Everything we’ve done together – from watching movies to going to the park to hanging out at a club to just sitting and playing music– has turned into a question and answer session.

Do you like this?

Why?

Why not?

What do you feel when we do this?

Yes, it’s pretty much just as annoying as it sounds.

It’s been difficult, for us both, I think. I’m no scientist, not even close, and I’m in completely uncharted territory. But I promised him that we would figure this out together, so that’s what I’m trying to do.

And we have managed to learn a few things this way. We’ve learned that Tommy for the most part, knows what he likes or dislikes, but he can’t explain why. And emotions, though he seems to be experiencing them, are still a mystery to him.

“I don’t know,” he says after long moments staring at both covers. “You pick, Adam.”

“It’s important that you pick, honey.”

“Why? Why do I have to?”

This is new too. He’s been getting frustrated lately. Frustrated both by my questions and his inability to understand what’s happening to him.

“Tommy, I’m sorry. I know this is hard, but you have to.” I’m pushing and I don’t even know if I should be. I don’t know if I’m helping him by forcing him to choose.

But what else can I do? Instinct tells me that this is the right thing and I’m a big believer in trusting your instincts. It’s just something that seems to work for me. Except for a few, really awkward times in my past when it didn’t, but I’m conveniently forgetting about those for now.

He pulls the movies from my hands and takes a moment to read the back of the dvd covers.

He finally hands one over to me. “Nightmare first. Please.”

I smile and rub at his hair, mussing it so that falls over one eye. “Good, Tommy. That’s good.” Then I push it a step further. “What made you pick this one instead of the other?”

His own smile begins to fade. “Adam . . .”

“You can do it. Come on.”

He opens his mouth to answer at the exact same moment that the phone begins to ring.

“Crap,” I say, already moving toward it. “Hold that thought, ok?”

“Ok.”

I pick up the phone but don’t recognize the number on the caller id. It’s my curiosity that prompts me to answer. Curiosity because there aren’t a lot of people that know this number.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Lambert?”

The voice on the other end is familiar but I can’t quite place it. “Yeah, who’s this?”

“This is Paula. From the Replicant Center. Do you have a moment?”

It only takes me a second to pull the memory from the back of my brain. Paula. Small lady. Very chatty and excitable. Most importantly, she helped me to create Tommy.

“Yeah, I do. What can I do for you?”

“Good,” she says. “Perfect. We’re not far from your house. We’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

“Wait . . . what?”

But that’s it. Calls over. The click and dial tone tells me she’s already disconnected from the line.

I turn to find that Tommy’s staring at me, waiting for me to speak. “That was Paula from the Center,” I say.

Tommy visibly stiffens, a reaction I haven’t seen from him before. “Paula?” he asks.

“Yeah. Do you . . . .do you know her?” The question’s a shot in the dark, but something tells me that it’s the right one to ask.

Instinct again. Always instinct.

“I . . . yes.”

There’s hesitancy on his part. That’s interesting. Almost as interesting as the reaction to Paula’s name. “How do you know her?”

More hesitancy as he turns away from me. “I’m not supposed to say.”

“No? Well, tell me anyway.”

“I’m not supposed to-”

“Tell me anyway.” I make it a command, one that he can’t disobey.

He’s not looking at me, still facing away when he says, “She was my tester. Before I left.”

That sounds kind of ominous. Tester?

“What does that mean? Did she do something to you? Did she hurt you?” It seems unlikely that she did, but it would certainly explain these strange reactions.

“No. No, she didn’t hurt me.”

“Tell me, Tommy. Tell me exactly what she did.” I soften my voice but still manage to make the words a command, something that he can’t deny and that he can’t refuse.

His own voice, when he finally answers, is very low. “A companion’s last test, to insure that they’re suitable for their owners, is to service both a man and a woman.”

“Whoa. Whoa, you slept with Paula? Paula slept with you? Why? You were made for a gay man. What would be the point?”

Tommy looks up at last, his strange eyes inscrutable. “In case you ever wanted to share me with a woman. Or, at least, that was the reasoning given.”

“Why weren’t you supposed to tell me that?” The answer hits me a second after I ask the question, so that when Tommy speaks it only confirms what I already know.

“Owners like the illusion of virginity,” he says matter-of-factly, as if he’s discussing the weather.

I go quiet, letting that small bit of information sink in, giving myself a moment to understand the feelings that are making my stomach churn. The thought of anyone else touching Tommy like that does not make me happy. It’s making me feel pretty sick, actually. The fact that he had no choice in the matter. The fact that they took that from him.

How dare they?

How fucking dare they?

And then it hits me – was I any better? What I did to him, my intentions for creating him. Was I any better?

I take a deep breath, trying to let the anger go. It’s pretty easy to do, now that I’ve guilt gnawing at my insides. I sit down next to him and bring his body close to mine. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You told me to.”

“I know. But thank you anyway.”

Before either of us can say anything else, I hear my doorbell ringing.

I turn toward it. Paula already? What the hell? That was no thirty minutes.

“Adam?” Tommy says. “Are you angry?”

“No.” I turn back to him. “Maybe a little, but not at you. We’ll talk about it later. For now, go into your room, ok? Don’t come out unless I come to get you.”

He nods and does as I say. I watch him go before I open up the door to Paula and two burly men that I’ve never seen before.

“Paula! To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”

She smiles up at me brightly and all I can think is that this woman touched Tommy. This woman used Tommy. And it takes a hell of a lot of willpower to not wipe that smile right off her face.

“Mr. Lambert. May we come in? There’s something I need to speak with you about. Something important.”

“Of course,” I say, letting them in with a sweep of my hand.

Paula and I take a seat in the living room while the two burly guys stand. I glance over to them, figure they’re muscle only, and focus my attention on Paula.

“Let me get right to the point,” she says. “Some owners of the Zeta series, of which your replicant is a part, have been reporting behaviors that may be interpreted as emotional responses.”

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Maybe it’s my training in musical theater, maybe it’s the fact that I can roll out the bullshit when I really want to. Whatever it is, I think I pretty successfully manage to hide the fact that I’m freaking the fuck out.

“Really?” I say as nonchalantly as I can muster. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Very. Have you noticed any unusual responses from your replicant lately? I believe he’s registered as Thomas Joseph?”

“Tommy,” I say automatically. “I always call him Tommy. And no, I haven’t noticed anything unusual about him. He’s working fine. He’s working great, actually.”

“That’s good to hear. But we would still prefer to run some tests on him. Just to be certain. That’s why we’re here.”

“Now?”

“At the Center.”

This just keeps getting worse. “But there’s no need. I’m telling you, he’s fine.”

“Mr. Lambert, I don’t think you appreciate what’s happening. Replicants are not programmed to handle whatever this development is. They could become unstable. They could become dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Isn’t it impossible for a replicant to hurt a human? The Prime Program or something?”

“In normal instances, yes, the Prime Program would make it impossible for a replicant to hurt a human being. But these aren’t normal instances.”

I can feel my façade slipping as a strand of emotion slips into my voice. “Tommy’s fine, though.”

Paula settles back against the sofa, hands clasped together on her lap. “We can get an extraction warrant if we need to.”

“Extraction warrant?”

“You should read your fine print, Mr. Lambert. Technically, the Center can recall any replicant if we feel they pose a danger to humans.” She pauses and smiles, but it’s not a good smile at all. “I’d rather not have to do that. But I can have the warrant within two hours if need be.”

At this my mind jumps into overdrive. I could continue to resist, forcing them to get the warrant, but that would only delay the inevitable and make Paula suspicious. Maybe suspicious enough to look at Tommy more carefully than necessary. For a quick second the thought of taking Tommy and running to Canada burns brightly in my head. They love me in Canada. But I discard that pretty quickly. I have to be realistic. There’s really only one choice here.

And that’s no choice at all.

“There’s no need for that, Paula. I’m more than happy to cooperate.”

“Wonderful! Now, where is he?”

“I’ll get him. He’s in the bedroom. He’s not exactly decent, if you know what I mean.” I give a small wink and a smirk, knowing that it will look good and maybe make up for my stalling before.

“Of course. We’ll wait.”

I walk into Tommy’s bedroom and close the door carefully behind me. Tommy’s sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting.

“Tommy . . .”

“I heard. I know. I know I have to go.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

I drop to my knees in front of him and grasp his shoulders. I can feel this wild desperation bubbling up in me. I can hear it bleeding through in my voice, even though I manage to keep it at a whisper. “Listen to me. You’re going to be fine, ok? You kept it hidden from me; you can keep it hidden from them. Whatever they do to you, whatever they say, you just act like the old Tommy, ok? Can you do that?”

He nods and I can see that he understands. “Yes. I think so. I’ll try.”

“You can. And you’ll come back to me, I know it.”

It’s all false bravado on my part. Me trying to be strong for him. I’m actually scared shitless.

But he continues to nod, and his face takes on a hopeful cast. A moment later, it’s gone and his face is blank and expressionless once.

I kiss him, just once, with a violence that takes me by surprise. I can feel his hands clutching at me, at my arms and my back as if he’s desperate to hold on. After a few seconds I reluctantly pull away, giving what I hope is a confident smile before taking hold of his arm and guiding him out into the living room.

Paula stands up when she sees us, holding out her hand for him.

“Go with her, Tommy. She’ll bring you back soon.”

“Yes, Adam.” He walks toward her and places his hand in hers.

Paula draws him in and says, “We’ll contact you once testing is complete.”

“When will that be?”

“A day or so at most.”

It’s too long, I think. So fucking long.

“And what if he fails the testing?”

“We’ll replace him with another model. The Epsilon series had no such issues.”

She must see something on my face, some of the turmoil I’m feeling maybe showing as concern.

“He’ll look exactly the same, Mr. Lambert. Good as new. I promise.”

“Right. Good as new. Sure.”

“Now, say goodbye to Adam, Tommy,” she says.

Tommy complies, his voice flat and emotionless. “Goodbye, Adam.”

“Bye, Tommy.”

Paula pulls him along, walking to the door that those big guys have already opened. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Lambert.”

I watch them go, Tommy the last to step through the door. He gives me one last, lingering look, one that betrays nothing.

And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I lose track of time, of how long I spend just standing, staring at the door.

Gone.

Tommy’s gone and I just let him go. I just watched him go.

Knowing that I had no choice doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Eventually, I make my way to my phone and dial a familiar number, slumping to the ground in relief when the call’s answered.

“Brad?”

He knows immediately. Somehow from that one, lone word he can tell that something is wrong.

“Adam? What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

“I’m not. I’m really not.” My voice is cracking, the hurt and sadness creeping into it.

“Hey, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“I need you. I need you to come over now. Can you do that? Can you come over?”

“I’m there. Just hang on. I’m there.” The phone clicks off, loud in my ear.

I hold it in my hand long after, waiting, telling myself that I will not cry. That he will come back to me.

He has to.


	11. Chapter 11

So this is how Brad finds me when he walks into the house. I’m on the floor, clutching the phone with one hand and wiping away stray tears with the other.

I haven’t seen myself in a mirror but I’m pretty sure I look a pathetic mess. I feel like a pathetic mess.

Oh, yeah, I must look like a pathetic mess, because Brad is running toward me, dropping to his knees and sliding like a baseball player going for home.

“Adam? What’s wrong? What happened?”

His hands are all over me, almost as if he’s checking for injuries or something.

I lift my head and sniff, wiping away a couple of pesky tears. “I let him go, Brad. I just stood there and watched him go.”

Brad pulls away and sits back on his heels, his concern now trumped by confusion. “Huh? Who went where?”

“Tommy. They came and took him and I didn’t even try to stop them. And he’s so scared, Brad. He was so scared of that place.”

God, I’m getting worse. I’m almost blubbering now and I know that I’m not making much sense but I can’t seem to help it.

Brad pulls the phone away from my hand and sets it down on the ground. He seems very calm which is a good thing. One of us needs to be. “Ok, you need to take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on,” he says. “From the beginning. I’m not above slapping you to settle you down, you know.”

I can tell he’s worried about me and that the joke is designed to get me to stop freaking out. Somehow it works. I crack a small smile, wobbly but there as I take that deep breath.

Then I wipe away another tear and tell him absolutely everything.

By the time I’m done, we’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor and he’s holding my hand and rubbing it gently. It’s as if he’s trying to give me strength through his touch, a gesture that means more than I can possibly say.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do if he doesn’t come back to me, Brad.”

He continues to rub my hand as he answers, cradling it within both of his. “Ok, first of all, don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ve been living with him and you didn’t realize anything was going on, right?”

He pushes when I don’t answer. “Right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, he’ll probably be able to fool them too. You told him to act like the old Tommy and he always listens to you. Right?”

“But what if he can’t? Fooling me is different than fooling them. What if he can’t do it? What if -”

“Adam, stop. Don’t freak out until there’s a real reason to freak out.”

“This feels like a real reason.”

“It’s not. And it won’t be unless they tell you that there’s a problem. And even then we’re only going to freak for a minute and then we’re going to deal with it. Ok?”

I nod, feeling slightly better. It’s not just the words or the logic, although that’s part of it. Mostly it’s just the fact that Brad’s here and now I don’t have to face this alone.

“Thank you.”

“We do have to figure out what you’re going to do about this little issue when you get him back, though.”

“What do you mean? What issue?”

“Well, you know,” Brad says, his voice adopting a casual air. “About the fact that you’re in love with him.”

My jaw just about drops to the floor from how ridiculous this suggestion is. “What? No!”

“You’re not ready to face it yet. I get it.”

“Brad, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re not being funny.”

Brad rolls his eyes as if I’m the one that’s not making sense. “I’m not trying to be. Really. I’m just stating what seems obvious to me.”

“I’m not in love with him. He’s a machine, Brad.”

“A machine that’s developing human emotions, Adam. He’s not just a machine anymore. He hasn’t been for a while now.”

“You’re talking out your ass again, you know that.”

“Did you call me over here to insult me?”

“No. No, I’m sorry. It’s just that . . .”

I sigh, shoulders sagging under the weight of the past few days. I don’t think I can do this right now. I don’t think my mind can handle even considering that Brad might be right. It’s too much, too big.

And then I remember the old woman at the record store. Hadn’t she essentially said the same thing?

So here’s the million-dollar question. Are Brad and that woman the ones who are operating under false illusions or is it me? Am I really that blind?

“Brad?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I in love with Tommy?”

It’s Brad’s turn to sigh. “I would answer that, honey, but I think you gotta figure that out for yourself.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It takes two full days for the phone call to come. Brad stays with me the entire time. We talk, we listen to music, we watch tv. We drink.

We drink a lot actually.

But neither one of us is far from the phone at any given time.

And then finally, after what feels like years instead of days, the call comes. The call that tells me that Paula will be bringing Tommy back by the end of the day.

I walk over to the couch and collapse on it. Brad sits next to me, places his hands on my shoulders and shakes me. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but the guy’s pretty fricking strong.

“Brad, chill. You’re gonna break my neck.”

“Adam? What did they say?”

“They said they’re bringing him back.”

His body sags with relief. It’s nice, knowing that he cares about getting Tommy back almost as much as I do.

“That’s a good thing, right?” I ask.

“Yeah, I think it’s gotta be. Right?”

Answering a question with a question. This is the best Brad can come up with after two days of hoping and wondering. I don’t blame him. I don’t have much more.

“So now what?” he asks.

“Now we get to wait some more.”

“So . . . more beer?”

“Fuck yeah.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So we wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

And just when I think I’m about to lose my mind completely and be forced to storm the Replicant Center to free Tommy . . . the doorbell rings. Brad hides away in one of the back rooms while I go to answer the door.

Paula and the goons enter first, followed by Tommy.

He looks exactly the same, even down to the clothes that he left in. Our gazes lock for a moment, his revealing nothing, mine hopefully doing the same.

When it comes time to speak, my voice falters and I fake-cough to cover. I force a deep breath into my lungs before I ask, “So, how did it go? Is he ok?”

“He’s fine. We found no evidence of any anomaly.”

My theater training once again kicks in, keeping me from falling to the floor in sheer relief. “Great. Good,” I say. “So, I’ll just take him back, then.”

“Absolutely,” Paula says. “For now.”

“For now?”

“We may find it necessary to run more tests in the future. But for now; everything’s fine.”

I keep my game face on as I thank her and escort them all to the door. I close it behind them and wait a few seconds, as long as I can stand it, and launch myself at Tommy. I drag us down to the floor, both of us on our knees, and clasp his face between my hands.

“Is it you, Tommy?” Is it really you?”

His hands cover mine. He feels so warm, so alive.

“It’s me. They didn’t do anything to me. It’s me.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that I just let them take you. When I think about how scared you must have been . . .”

“I was. I was scared. But I did what you told me to do and they believed it.” He shakes his head briefly. “This is too new. They don’t even know what they’re looking for or how to test for it. It wasn’t that hard.”

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again, just so you know. I’m not letting anyone take you ever again.”

And with those words, I bring him close and kiss him. It’s forceful and messy, mostly because it’s two days worth of worry and regret pouring itself into this one act.

“Um . . . I think I’m gonna go, Adam.”

Brad? Shit, I’d almost forgotten he was here.

Who am I kidding? I forgot about him completely.

Tommy and I break apart and turn toward him. “Brad, I’m sorry, I . . .”

But Brad only smiles and shakes his head. “It’s fine. You two need some time alone. Just call me later, ok?”

I return the smile, grateful that he gets it. “I will. And Brad?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Anytime. You know that.”

Brad leaves with a smile and a wink, the fucker. I’m going to have to really thank him later, seeing as I’m pretty sure that I owe him my sanity. Maybe I can arrange a meeting with that Vampire Diaries guy.  
But for now . . .

I turn back to Tommy. “So.”

“So?”

I lean in for another kiss, thrilled when he meets me halfway. There’s no crazy kind of urgency this time. This time I’m savoring every moment, every touch of his lips against mine.

It’s easy to get lost in the haze of passion, in the chase for more as that one kiss leads to another.

I drop my hands to his body, feel his roaming over mine as I tip him back, back until he’s lying on the on the floor and my body covers his.

And this is when I falter. When my inconvenient, stupid conscience wars with what is basically pure desire. I pull away, enough to get some distance between us, and take a deep breath.

“Tommy . . .”

“Don’t do this.”

“What?”

“You’re hesitating again. You’re always hesitating with me.”

He’s right, of course. There’s no point in denying it. I Just have to make him understand why. “I don’t want to take advantage of you, Tommy. I’m not like Paula or the guy who tested you. I’m not like that.”

“I know that. Adam, I know that.”

“Then you see why I don’t think we should -”

He cuts me off, not allowing me to finish. “What do I have to do to make you realize that I want this?”

“But you don’t even feel it. How can you want it?”

“I do feel. Not like you, but I feel. But that’s not why I want this.”

“Then why?”

“I . . . I like you. I want to . . . I want . . .” He closes his eyes and begins to shake his head from side to side, the gesture I know to mean that he’s having difficulty with something.

So I take a guess, a hopeful guess that I’m right. “You want me? Is that what you want? Me?”

“Yes.” He opens his eyes and smiles, crooked and a bit naughty. “Yes. I want you.”

And, well . . . that’s good enough for me. Finally, that’s good enough for me.

“Good. Because I really want you too,” I say as I touch him, dragging my fingers from his throat to the jut of his hip, making it a question. He responds by arching up into my touch, his gaze soft and fixed on mine. I refuse to think this time, refuse to ruin it by thinking about what he is or isn’t. I make quick work of our clothes, throwing them beside us, before tilting his body back until he lies on his back against the floor.

I tell myself that it’s going to be different this time. There’s no alcohol to muzzle or twist things. There’s no desperate urgency. I’m going to take my time, I’m going to explore.

And I do. With my hands and my lips, I map out his body, so pretty and pale underneath me. And I think, with a sense of wonderment, that he’s mine. His face, his body, all of him, was made for me. And I didn’t get it before, mostly because I didn’t want to. When I first got him, he was a possession. He isn’t one, not any longer. And yet he’s still mine. Mine because I want him and need him. Mine because he wants me and needs me.

I stroke him to hardness with one hand, the other hand buried in his hair. I use it to urge his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. I bring my lips to the skin there, dragging my teeth across it, digging in and drawing low noises from him; filthy and desperate and as real to me as anything I’ve ever heard from a lover.

Pulling my hands away, I place them on his thighs, urging them apart. I don’t think I can wait any longer. Exploring has been fun, but I need this now. I need him now.

“Adam?”

I barely pause, positioning myself, adjusting us both.

“Yeah?”

“Wait,” he says, sounding breathless. “Just wait.”

I freeze, looking down at Tommy’s face. He’s so hard to read. He may feel emotions, but his face doesn’t register them unless he consciously makes it happen. Most of the time, like now, his face is an unwavering, inscrutable mask.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“Will you regret this? I don’t . . . I don’t want you to regret this.”

My heart sinks when I realize it was my carelessness that causes him to hesitate. “I’m not going to regret this. I’m done being stupid, Tommy. I promise.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I was stupid. People are sometimes. We have this tendency of not realizing what we have until we almost lose it.”

“You mean me?”

“Yes, I mean you.”

“I’m important to you?”

“That’s an understatement.” I smile as I caress his cheek. “You’re very important to me.”

He lifts his head to kiss me, a small peck that somehow turns into more. “Ok, then.”

“Ok? This is ok?”

“Yes.” Another kiss. “Please.”

So I proceed to do what any red-blooded American male would do when lying atop a gorgeous, naked creature.

I take my time, drawing it out, the feeling of being inside of him so good that I pretty much want it to last forever. And when I come it’s to the feel of his body moving against mine, to the heady sound of his moans against my ear.

Afterward, I take him to bed where we curl our bodies around each other; two perfect circles entwined. Corny, I know. But that’s what it feels like, blissful and perfect. At this moment, there are no worries about the Center or Paula or further testing.

I’ll start to deal with that shit tomorrow.

At this moment, there’s only me and Tommy and the feel of his body pressing against mine.

I press a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, baby,” I tell him.

“You too.”

And wouldn’t you know it, we both do.


	12. Chapter 12

I wake up in darkness to find that Tommy is no longer in my arms.

It’s not a good feeling. It’s cold and lonely and unsettling.

I reach out, my fingers feeling to the edges of the bed for him, but I come up with nothing. He’s not in the bed at all.

My heart starts to triphammer in my chest as I feel the beginnings of fear.

What if Tommy’s gone? What if Paula, evil harpy that she is, snuck back into the house and took him away?

Ok, maybe it’s a little far-fetched and maybe all the horror movies that I’ve been watching have warped my brain, but sitting here alone in the dark, the idea seems really, really plausible.

And terrifying as hell.

I slide out of bed, barely giving my eyes time to adjust to the gloom, not bothering to worry about the fact that I’m still naked. When I’m at the bedroom door, I call out Tommy’s name and wait for his answer.

Nothing.

Well, shit.

Now what? Do I call out again or should I be sneaky? What if Paula and her goons are still in the house and are somehow keeping Tommy from answering me?

Man, what I wouldn’t do for a bat right now. Or a gun. Or even some more muscles. Oh god, why don’t I go to the gym more?

Ok, enough of this. I can’t just stand here all night. I’ve gotta do something, even if it is just to walk down the hall and call out Tommy’s name a little louder.

I’m expecting silence, so when I hear Tommy’s voice, I jump about two feet in the air. Not a pretty sight when you’re naked.

“In here, Adam.”

Oh thank god. He sounds ok. He’s ok.

I turn toward the sound of his voice and start to follow it.

“Where?”

“In the music room.”

And that’s where I find him. My eyes have adjusted to the dark now and there’s enough moonlight streaming in the room that I can see him.

He’s sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, Monte’s guitar in his hands. He’s not strumming it, just holding it tight against his body, almost as if he’s afraid it’s going to get away.

He’s also completely naked, which is all kinds of hot. Until I remember that it’s Monte’s guitar that he’s holding and that Monte might not appreciate that.

I take a small step forward. Strange, but I feel like I’m intruding. “Tommy?”

He lifts his head up slowly. “Hi, Adam.”

“What are you doing in here? You’re supposed to be re-charging.”

“I know. But I came aware and I couldn’t shut down again, so I came in here.”

“To play?”

“To process.” He smiles when he sees my confusion. “To think.”

“Yeah? Well, what were you thinking about?”

He gives a quick shake of his head. “There’s so much.”

“Good stuff?”

“Some. Some bad.”

“Is it about the Center?”

“Some of it.”

I slide down to the floor, legs folded underneath me, scooting close. Reaching out, I touch his hand, linking our fingers. “You know, we haven’t really talked about what happened at the Center. Maybe we should.”

“Why?” he asks, and I can see that he genuinely doesn’t understand. “It’s over.”

“That’s replicant logic. We’re going to use human logic.”

“Human logic?”

“Yup. Human logic says that even though something’s over, it’s good to talk about it because it could still be bothering you.”

“Adam, I’m not human.”

“Maybe not. But you’re not just a replicant anymore, are you?”

Even with his hair partially obscuring his face, I can tell when I’ve got him.

“Nothing really happened,” he says. “They asked a lot of questions and ran diagnostics.”

I give his fingers a squeeze. He hasn’t said anything that bad yet and I already want to pound everybody who touched him. “Did they hurt you?”

“They can’t hurt me, Adam. Not really.”

Well, he’s got a point there if he means physically, and I know he does. “Anything else? Did they do anything else?”

“No. They just asked a lot of questions about my time with you and my reactions to things. So I told a lot of lies.”

My other hand drifts up to his hair, sliding over it before my fingertips reach the strong line of his chin. What is it about this guy that makes me want to cuddle him, then fuck him senseless, then cuddle him again? When did he become so precious to me?

“You did real good, you know that?” I tell him.

He places a kiss against my palm, a small, sexy gesture that makes my cock twitch with interest.

“What about next time?” he asks after a moment. “When they come for me again?”

“We don’t know that that’s going to happen.”

“It will. This is too important for them to only take me in once. They’ll take me back and give me different tests. Tests that I might not pass.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. The thought of it terrifies me and I can only imagine what he must be feeling, how he must be struggling to make sense of it.

I pull my hand away from his and scoot back. “Come here.”

He sets the guitar aside and does as I say, positioning himself between my spread legs, his back against my chest.

“I’m going to figure this out.” I settle my chin against his shoulder as I wrap my arms and legs around him. “I’m not exactly sure how yet, but I’m going to figure this out. I’m going to take care of you and I’m going to keep you safe.”

“But you don’t know that for certain, Adam.”

More replicant logic. We’re going to have to work on that. “Tommy, I know that this is a foreign concept, but sometimes you have to have a little faith. Trust in me.”

He leans his head back and I press a kiss to his cheek. “I do, Adam. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s only that . . .” He trails off, starts to say something again, and then falters. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“It’s ok. I told you this is something that we’re going to figure out together and we will. Ok? We will.”

He nods, his hair tickling my face with the movement. “Ok.”

I give his body a small squeeze, bowing my head to nuzzle at his throat. It’s then that my eyes catch sight of Monte’s discarded guitar.

Time to change the mood in here. Get away from the doom and gloom, just for a bit.

“You know, maybe it’s about time to buy you your own guitar.”

The change is instantaneous. He straightens then twists so that I can see his face. “Really? Adam, really?”

Oh man, he’s so pretty like this. The moonlight’s casting him a blue glow, ethereal and soft, giving me just enough to make out his features. It’s not just the fact that physically he’s hotter than sin, but more that he’s radiating happiness and excitement at the prospect of having his own instrument. And I’d never thought I’d say this, but I’m finding myself more than a little jealous of Tommy’s future guitar.

“Yeah. It’d be more fun to have your own, don’t you think?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

“Really?”

“We’ll go in the morning. How does that sound?”

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he twists around fully and launches himself at me, knocking me back to the ground.

Now I’ve got an armful of naked, happy Tommy on top of me. Not a bad situation to be in.

“That sounds wonderful. That sounds amazing. That sounds fantastic. Thank you. Thank you, Adam.”

So this is what I’m reduced to. Adam Lambert, infamous rock star that can make people swoon with a thrust of his hips, is lying naked on the floor giggling like a schoolgirl.

And the worst part is that I can’t seem to stop giggling. At least not until Tommy pulls away slightly and fixes me with a serious, steady gaze.

“I want to thank you,” he says. “How can I thank you properly?”

He shifts and . . . whoa, when did his hand get there?

My giggles die an untimely death as I arch up into the touch. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“I want to.”

Oh god, did I ever mention how fucking talented Tommy is at this kind of thing? “Well, if you want to . . .”

“I do. Want to ride you until you come inside me.”

There’s no way any man in his right mind is going to argue with that, but . . .

“Bed this time,” I tell him. “No rug burns in a bed.”

Tommy smiles and pushes himself up to a standing position, swift and graceful. He holds his hand out, lifting me up when I take it.

“Bed it is,” he says.

I take one last glance at Monte’s guitar as we leave for round two. Funny . . . not feeling so jealous anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The next day, I roll out of bed early and head over to the living room. Tommy’s still out, still re-charging. That’s fine; this is something I wanted to do alone anyway.

After a quick glass of orange juice, I pick up the phone and call Lane. I dish out the pleasantries quickly and get right down to business.

“Lane, do I have a lawyer?”

Her voice fills with suspicion. She is no fool, this one. “Why do you need a lawyer?”

“It’s nothing bad, I promise. I just have some questions.”

“You swear on your mother’s life that it’s nothing bad?”

I roll my eyes but answer nicely. “I swear on my mother’s life, Lane. Just some questions.”

“Well, the record label has lawyers on payroll. I could have one of them give you a call.”

“Great. That’d be great. But could you do it really, really soon?”

“Nothing bad? Really? Because if there’s something I need to know, better that you tell me now. That way I can start damage control.”

“Lane, look who you’re talking to here.”

“Exactly why I ask, Adam.”

I can’t argue with that. “I swear. Just some questions.”

“Fine. Give me a few minutes. Let me see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Lane.”

I hang up and wait, my fingers drumming impatiently on the sofa as the minutes tick by.

Only a little over half an hour later, the phone rings. I bring it up to my ear, thanking Lane silently, making a mental note to get her a trip to Hawaii or something to show my appreciation.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Lambert?”

“Yes, this is him.”

“My name’s Andrew Laeter. I’m an attorney with your record company. I understand you have some questions for me.”

I settle in and take a deep breath, trying to sound bland and unaffected. “Great. Ok. Yeah. I have some hypothetical questions for you. Very hypothetical. As in, not happening at all.”

“All right. Go ahead.”

“Ok, so let’s say that some replicants, the latest series, are showing signs of having emotions . . .”

“Hypothetically speaking?”

“Absolutely.”

“Go on.”

“Right. And let’s say that the Replicant Center has decided to recall these replicants for experimentation and you know . . . whatever.”

“Ok.”

“And let’s assume that one of the owners doesn’t want his replicant to get called back but the Center has something called an extraction warrant.”

“This is a very detailed hypothetical question, Mr. Lambert.”

“Call me Adam.”

“This is a very detailed hypothetical question, Adam.”

“I know. Crazy, huh? So, to get to my question. Is there any way to ignore an extraction warrant or to fight it?”

“Hypothetically, of course.”

“Absolutely.”

“Ok. Well, unfortunately, you can’t really fight an extraction warrant. They were literally set up for situations like this.”

“Like replicants feeling things?”

“Or any similar situation. The Center can claim that it’s in the public’s interest to pull back their product. All they have to do is claim concern for public safety or welfare.”

“So there’s nothing that I . . . that an owner of a replicant can do to stop it from happening?”

“Technically, not much. You could, I suppose, move to a foreign country. The warrant doesn’t extend outside of the United States. And most other countries aren’t exactly supporters of the replicant program. It’s very unlikely that they would honor the warrant and agree to extradition.”

“So, Canada?” I say, surprised that my voice sounds so hopeful. What can I say - Canada’s close and they speak English and they really, really like me there.

“No. Not Canada. They have a good neighbor policy with the United States. It would have to be somewhere like Europe. France, maybe. They don’t care what you do as long as it doesn’t hurt anybody.”

“That’s the only way? To move to a foreign country?”

He hesitates and for a few seconds there’s nothing but silence from his end. “Well, there is one other thing. But it would be . . . well, a really audacious gamble.”

“Hit me.”

“You as the owner of the replicant could file for an injunction against the warrant. Maybe claiming that the Center has no right because the replicant is no longer property. Assuming that the replicant in question has started to experience emotions, that is.”

Oh, I think I’m starting to like this guy. “So because the replicant can feel, he’s no longer property?”

“That’s the gist of it.” He pauses for a few moments. “Or better yet, the owner could file for a petition of emancipation. Maybe the replicant could even file it himself.”

“Like when a minor’s declared a legal adult?”

“Yes. Same basic principle.”

“Would that even work?”

“Like I said, it would be audacious. Crazy. It would require the court to redefine what it means to be alive. After all, even animals have rights. Shouldn’t a replicant that can feel and think independently have at least that much?”

“It sounds like you’re already preparing your argument,” I say.

“Sorry. It’s just . . . well, it would be the case of the century. Bigger even.”

“Would the replicant be safe from the Center in the meantime? While the court case was going on?”

“Very definitely. Yes, we could argue to keep the replicant out of their hands until a ruling came down.”

“How long would that take? Months? A year?”

“Try years. Something that big, that important . . . years. Between the testing and gathering and assimilating of data, it would easily take that long. And then whoever lost would most likely appeal. Something like that could very easily go all the way to the Supreme Court. In fact, I’d be very surprised if it didn’t.”

My hand tightens around the phone at the mention of tests. The thought of Tommy being poked and prodded, having to endure god knows what while they try to figure out if he gets to survive, is not making me happy.

“What if the replicant lost?” I ask after a moment. “What if we got all the way to the Supreme Court and the replicant lost?”

“Hypothetically speaking, Mr. Lambert?”

“Adam, please. And, yeah. Hypothetically.”

I can hear him sighing across the line, a sad noise as if the thought bothers him. Yeah, I definitely like this guy. “The Center wins and they get to do whatever they want with the replicant. Or, well, there’s always France.”

“France. Fuck, I don’t know any French.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

I thank him for all his help before hanging up the phone and making my way back to the bedroom. Back to Tommy.

It’s early still, so I know it’s going to be a while before he comes aware. I sit down on the edge of the bed, carefully so I don’t jar him, then I settle in, my eyes glued to his still form.

I know that I’ve got some thinking to do. Big time, serious thinking. I know that I’ve got to figure out just exactly what Tommy means to me and how far I’m willing to go for him.

But not right now. Right now I can’t do anything but stare helplessly and hopelessly.

An hour later he stirs, eyes opening, his gaze to the ceiling before focusing on me. Weird, how I used to find his eyes strange, disconcerting. Now, I just find them beautiful.

He smiles up at me. “Hi, Adam.”

I somehow manage to return the smile. “Hi.”

“We’re getting the guitar today, right?”

“Yup. We’ll go after breakfast.”

He throws the covers aside and leaps out of the bed. “I’ll go get ready then.”

As I watch him go, presumably to wash up and get dressed, Brad’s words begin to echo through my head.

Just a few seconds later, Andrew’s voice joins Brad’s, then comes Paula’s, then Cam’s, then Monte’s. Pretty soon just about everyone I know is chiming in with their two cents until it’s all just a cacophony of sound and nothing makes sense anymore.

I have, I think to myself as Tommy reappears and the voices die down, a lot of thinking to do.

I pull him in for a long, deep kiss that’s just on the verge of desperate.

A lot of fucking thinking to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later, I get a call from the Center, telling me that they need Tommy back for more testing.

Eleven hours after taking that phone call, I land in Paris, Tommy at my side.


	13. Chapter 13

Paris was meant to be a temporary solution, a place to hide and keep Tommy safe while I figured some shit out.

And yet four months later, here we still are, living in a rented apartment in the 4th arrondisement, and trying our best to learn French. Though, let’s be honest, most everyone here speaks enough English that it almost doesn’t matter.

It’s hard not to fall in love with Paris. It’s both old and hip, funky and regal. It’s the kind of city where, if you’re not careful, you’ll look back at the end of your life and wonder if you ever lived anywhere else.

And the absolute best part? That Andrew was right. In France, no one cares what you do long as you’re not hurting anybody. Shacking up with someone of your own gender? No problem. Shacking up with someone of your own gender that’s not even technically human? No problem.

The problem lies with everyone else. In fact, I’m not sure who’s freaking out worse, my family and friends or Lane and the record company.

But hey, I haven’t broken my contract yet, something I very nicely pointed out to Lane when the record company flew her out here two months ago. Ok, yeah, I’ll probably be breaking it soon, but not yet and that’s the important part.

As for my family and friends, well, they think I’m acting crazy. And not the good, creative kind of crazy, either. But they’ll come around. They love me. They’ll get it eventually.

In fact, I think Brad’s about the only person who supports this completely. But then again, he was there. He was the one who held my hand and wiped my tears when I was facing the possibility of losing Tommy forever. He understands what no one else really does.

Besides that, he’s still really giddy from his meeting with Ian Somerhalder. If I told him that I was moving in with a cow, he’d probably endorse it wholeheartedly.

“What are you thinking?” Tommy asks, his voice startling me into the here and now. I hadn’t even realized I’d gone so far into my thoughts. “Is something wrong?” he adds.

Is something wrong? Let’s think about that.

I’m walking hand in hand with Tommy along the Seine in Paris. The city’s lights, thousands upon thousands, sparkle and shine brilliance against the water and Tommy’s skin.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” I say. “Everything is actually very, very right.”

“Really?” he asks. “You seemed so far away just then.”

“I was just thinking. I promise it was nothing bad.”

He casts me a suspicious look. He’s getting so much better at synchronizing what he’s feeling with his facial expressions. It’s something that I’ve been encouraging him to work on, something I know he has been.

“Were you thinking about what the Center said?” he asks.

I know immediately what he’s referring to. He’s talking about the phone call we got from Andrew only a week ago.

I wasn’t thinking about it, not really, but I do have to admit that the conversation’s never far from my mind.

And while I’ve never been one to do that perfect recall thing, for some reason, with this conversation, I can.

“Adam, I just got off the phone with the people at the Replicant Center.”

“And?”

“They’re almost positive it’s only the companion model that’s having the issues.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s all in the preliminary stages, but they think it has something to do with companions being programmed to be attuned to human nuances. Shifting moods. That kind of thing.

“That makes sense, I guess. But are they sure?”

“Like I said, it’s all preliminary. But, Adam . . .”

“Yeah?”

“They want Tommy back. They want all the companions back. As many as they can, so they can figure out why this happened.”

“Well, they can’t have him.”

“Adam, think about this.”

“No, Andrew. Not gonna happen.”

“They’re willing to pay you triple the amount you paid for him. And give you another one. An older model of course. Hell, if we played hardball, they’d probably give you a whole stable of them.”

“I don’t care about any of that. It’s not going to happen.”

“What about their claims that he could be dangerous? Don’t you think it’s time to think about your own safety?”

“That’s bullshit. He gets frustrated and upset just like everybody else. And he’s handling it fine. A fucking kitten’s more dangerous than Tommy.”

“Fine, he’s tamer than a kitten. So what do I tell them?”

“Tell them no.”

“Adam?”

“Sorry,” I say, shaking the words away, leaving them in the past for now. “Sorry. No, I wasn’t thinking about the Center.”

A lie, of course, but a small one. It’s not like my nose is growing.

“Are you lying?”

I can’t help but chuckle at that. He just keeps getting better and better at this. “I’m standing by the Seine with the most beautiful man in Paris. My mind is very nicely occupied, trust me.”

“Did you just call me a man?” He sounds surprised, his eyes widening to show that he is. And I can see, underneath the surprise, that he’s pleased.

“Yes,” I say, pulling him in closer. And if the handholding hadn’t been enough of a clue, now there’s no way anyone could mistake us for anything other than a couple. “The man I’m in-“

And just like that, my sentence comes to a screeching halt, like a Mack truck hitting a wall. Because, whoa. What the hell was I just about to say there?

I turn to the side, pretending to cough, trying to recover. Not my smoothest move, but that’s all I’ve got right now.

“What?” he asks. “The man you’re what?”

More fake coughing, and now Tommy looks concerned, patting my back and everything.

“You know what, it’s getting late. We should be getting home.” I make a show of pulling out my phone to check the time, only to find that it’s dead. Damn it, when did that happen?

“It’s not that late,” he says.

“Yeah, but I’m tired.”

“But you slept till noon.”

I try another tactic. “Maybe I just want to get you all alone at home. Ever think of that?” And now that the words are out, I find that they’re very true. I give my best lecherous grin, which, if I do say so myself, is pretty damn lecherous. It seems to do the trick. Tommy gives me his own answering grin and then we’re off.

We decide to hurry by taking the Metro, choosing that over walking or taking a taxi. A few people look at us as we make our way to some empty seats, but most don’t.

“I like it here,” Tommy says, nuzzling against me.

“Me too.”

Shit, the truth is, at this rate, I may never leave.

We get home, turning on the lights as we walk into the apartment’s living area. Tommy sits down on the couch, watching as I plug the phone in to charge it. After a few seconds it comes to life, telling me that I have fourteen missed calls. I flip through them, unnerved when I see that all of them are from Andrew.

“Is something wrong?” Tommy asks. He moves to stand, but I wave him back down.

“I just have to call Andrew.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now.”

I don’t bother to listen to the messages; I just hit the button that calls him back.

He answers almost right away, prompting me to envision him with his phone in his lap, just waiting for my call.

“Where the hell have you been?” he says. “I’ve been calling you.”

Ok, niceties are out the window. Not a good sign.

“I know. I’m sorry. My phone died and I didn’t even realize it. Tommy and I just got back. We’ve been gone most of the day.”

His voice softens. “Tommy. How is he? Is he ok?”

“He’s fine. What’s going on?”

“It’s the Center. They want Tommy. They’re not messing around anymore.”

“What are they going to do?”

I turn around to Tommy, and the fear that I’m feeling must be projected on my face. He rises and takes a step toward me, my name on his lips.

And then, just like the movies, everything seems to slip-slide into slow motion. I see Tommy take another step forward and then he collapses to the floor. I drop the phone with a cry and run to him, scooping him up in my arms. I hold him close and lift his head so I can see his face. His eyes, those beautiful strange eyes, are open but there’s nothing there. No recognition, no intelligence, no awareness. I give him a gentle shake, watching helplessly as his body moves like a ragdoll’s.

I set him down carefully, then run back to where I dropped the phone, picking it up before hurrying back to Tommy.

“Andrew!”

“Adam? What’s going on? Is it Tommy?”

“He’s not moving. It’s like he’s . . . I don’t know. It’s like he’s passed out or something. He’s not moving at all.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Adam. I tried to call. I’ve been trying.”

I can feel my control slipping, my mind riding the edge of panic. “What the fuck is going on, Andrew?”

“The Center. They want him back, Adam. They told me to tell you that if you didn’t bring him back, that they would hit the kill switch.”

“Kill switch?”

“Apparently, all the replicants have them built in. Just in case something goes wrong with the Prime Program or something. They can shut down the replicant without even being close to them.”

“No . . . ”

“I’m sorry, Adam. I really am. I tried to tell them that I couldn’t reach you and to hold off, but they gave a deadline.”

“Is there any way to bring him back?” I ask, a desperate attempt not to give in to the panic that’s stealing the breath right out of my lungs. “Without the Center? Can we find somebody that can-‘’

“We can try, but the Center made it very clear that they are the only ones that can.”

The twisting in my gut doubles me over and leaves me gasping for air. “Jesus.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but what do you want me to tell them?”

I force a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. I repeat the process, breathing in and out, in and out, until the mind-numbing tide of panic recedes. Not entirely, but enough. Enough for me to think. My free hand rests upon Tommy’s cheek. He’s so cold. He’s never been cold, ever.

It feels like death against my hand.

No choice.

There's no choice here, there never was. Who the fuck was I kidding?

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck . . .

I take in another deep breath, letting it out, shaky on the exhale. I've gotta be calm. I've gotta do this for Tommy.

“Tell them they win,” I say. “Tell them I’ll bring him back. If they reactive him, I’ll have him back in a couple of days.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“I want them to activate him first.” My voice sounds stronger now. Not quite so defeated. “Then I’ll bring him back.”

“Of course.”

“And I’ll call you once he wakes up. Once I’ve had time to think. I need to talk to you about the alternative.”

He knows what I’m talking about, we spoke about it after Tommy and I got to Paris. Call it Plan B. A Plan B that I was hoping never to have to enact.

“I’ll be waiting,” he says.

“Oh, and, Andrew?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” The simple words come from the bottom of my heart.

“You’re welcome.”

I end the call and plug the phone back in so it can keep recharging.

Then I walk back to Tommy.

I lift him up, carrying him like a wounded bride across the threshold to our bedroom. I lay him down on the bed, as gently as I can, his head on the pillow, his arms at his sides. I’m treating him as if he’s fragile, and I know that he isn’t, I know he can’t feel any of this, but to treat him any other way would feel so wrong.

I sit down next to him, running a hand over his eyes to close them.

There. That’s better. Now it only looks like he’s sleeping.

For a long time, I do nothing but watch. Keeping vigil, looking for any small sign that he’s going to wake up, that this was all some big mistake. A twitch of synthetic muscle, a flutter of eyelashes . . . anything.

But there’s nothing. He’s like Sleeping Beauty. Or was it Snow White? Or . . . god, what the fuck does it even matter?

“Why did you have to be so wonderful? Why did you have to make me fall in love with you?”

The words just flow now, laced with pain, easier to say now that Tommy can’t hear them. Easier to admit now that no one can bear witness to them.

Funny how natural it feels, like I should have been saying it all along.

“When you wake up, I’m going to tell you that for real. Ok? I’m not going to weasel out of it this time. I swear. Just come back, ok?”

I’ve got his hand in both of mine and I’m crying, tears dropping onto his skin. I’m raining on him, I think. It’s a ridiculous thought. Silly, nonsensical and it makes me giggle like a crazy person.

“Does Prince Charming always feel so helpless?” I ask him, my madman giggles barely under control.

After a moment, they settle down and I do as well, back to keeping my vigil.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The passing of time becomes a mute thing. It might have been a few minutes, might have been an hour before Tommy finally stirs.

I straighten, back protesting the change in position, but I refuse to let go of his hand. As I watch, his eyes fly open, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before finding me.

“Adam?”

I smile down at him. I must look like a goofy, wrecked idiot, not that I care. “Hey. Welcome back.”

“What happened? How did I get here?”

“What do you remember, honey?”

He sits up, ramrod straight. “Walking to you. You looked upset. I wanted to be with you.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all. Then opening my eyes now.”

I pause, trying to think of how to say what I need to say. I finally decide that there is no easy way, so I better just go for it. “They deactivated you. The Center hit the kill switch and deactivated you.”

“I have a kill switch?”

“You didn’t know?”

Tommy shakes his head. “No. Why would they do that?”

“They want you, Tommy. They want you back. It was there way of saying they weren’t messing around anymore.”

He drops his gaze and pulls his hand away from mine. “Then there’s no choice. I have to go back.”

Oh no. Now is not the time to hide from each other. My fingers grasp his chin, bringing his face up so that he’s looking at me.

“Ok, listen. I had a couple of epiphanies while you were out.”

“Epiphanies?”

I barely hesitate. I did promise, after all. “Yup. One, is that I love you. I’m in love with you.”

His face shows absolutely no emotion. None. I’m pretty sure I’ve shocked him so badly that he’s forgotten to make his face move. “Adam . . .”

“And I don’t expect you to say it back to me. I know that’s the big one, and it’s going to be awhile before you really understand what love is. And even once you do, there’s no law that says that you have to love me back. I just wanted you to know that I do, because I’ve been hiding it, mostly from myself for so long and-”

“Adam?”

“Huh?”

He smiles at me, his hand against my cheek. “You’re babbling.”

“Right,” I say, smiling right back at him. “Ok. Second epiphany. That as amazing as Paris is, what we’re doing here is hiding. And maybe it’s time to stop hiding.”

He draws his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Such a human gesture. So full of fear. Uncertainty. Doubt. “So what do we do?”

“Don’t, honey. Don’t be scared.” I climb onto the bed and take him in my arms, drawing strength from how he wraps himself around me.

“You and I are about to change the world.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The flight back to the States is long. It doesn’t help that I’m flying alone, only my own thoughts and a really crappy movie for company.

I think of Tommy, down in the cargo hold, all alone in the dark. At least he’s powered down and not aware of the indignity.

Then I think about how much I wish he were next to me and it takes everything I have not to cry.

So, I order a drink instead and force myself to focus on Julia Roberts and her onscreen woes instead.

Three drinks and another crappy movie later and we finally land.

Collecting Tommy, going through Customs is all a blur and by the time we make it through all the proper checkpoints, I’m exhausted and stressed and jumpy as a fucking cat.

We’ve barely taken two steps in the airport proper when we come upon them. Or rather, they come upon us.

There’s Paula, an older man that I don’t recognize, and the ever-present goons.

It’s Paula who speaks. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Mr. Lambert. But I’m sure you understand how important it is that we have Tommy back.”

“Actually, Paula, love . . . you’re not touching him.”

“Excuse me?”

I glance over to the left, just in time to see them converging on us. Reporters and paparazzi. Normally, I consider them the bane of my existence. Today, I want to buy them all a drink and invite them to a strip club of their choice.

They’re all strangely quiet. They know something big is about to go down and they’re not about to miss it.

And no, they’re not psychic. Apparently, they received an anonymous tip.

Interesting, isn’t it?

I turn slightly, making sure they’re getting my good side. I don’t have to worry about Tommy; he has no bad side.

It’s at this precise moment that Andrew materializes out of the crowd, sheaf of paper in hand. It’s like something out of a movie, really.

Man, I can’t wait to watch this on YouTube.

“Actually, Ms. Abdul,” Andrew says. “Mr. Lambert is right. Tommy isn’t going anywhere but home with him.”

The man with Paula speaks up at last. He’s tall and slender, dressed in a designer suit, and looks very, very perturbed. “And who the hell are you?”

“Mr. Lambert’s attorney. And this is for you,” Andrew says, handing the documents over. “Read it. Please. We’ll wait.”

Suit Guy and Paula look it over, eyes scanning the words quickly. When Paula raises her head, it’s clear she’s furious. “What is this?”

“You didn’t understand it? I’ll make it clear, then. It’s a stay on your warrant. You can’t touch Tommy.”

“We know what it is,” the man says. “But this is . . . you can’t do this.”

“Of course we can. Read further. We’re filing a petition to have Tommy declared a legal adult. Emancipation, if you will.”

Paula’s features settle into something resembling a smile. It’s the fakest one I’ve ever seen. She glances over at the cameras before speaking in hushed tones. “This is ridiculous. He has no rights. You think this is going to fly? This won’t fly. He’s a machine, for god’s sake.”

“We’ll let the courts decide that. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m sure both Adam and Tommy are anxious to get home.”

Paula opens her mouth to say something else, but Suit Guy stops her. “Let them go. We’ll eviscerate them in court.”

I smile politely, and then turn to the paparazzi, watching as they come at me like a pack of rabid wolves. Luckily, the record company sent bodyguards as well as Andrew and we’re whisked away before anyone even gets close.

“That was brilliant,” I say, leaning in to Andrew as we hurry away.

“Moments like that are why I went to law school.” He gives me a quick wink. “Infinitely satisfying.”

I hug Tommy to me as I laugh. I feel invincible right now, like everything is right with the universe. I feel like we’re going to win and that my words to Tommy weren’t just posturing bullshit.

We are going to change the world.

We reach our private car more and less unscathed. Andrew gets in the front seat leaving the back for Tommy and me.

“Come on, baby,” I say. My hand is on the open door, an invitation for him enter. “Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t slide in. Not yet. Instead, he reaches up on his tiptoes and gives me a kiss, long and languid. It’s full of promise and hope and fear and trust. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Tommy does make me wax poetic sometimes.

“Yes,” he whispers when he pulls away. “Let’s go home.”


	14. Chapter 14

Some people toil for years, trying to find the one thing that makes them happy, the one job they were born to do.

Some people never find it.

Me, I’m lucky. I’ve known since I was a little boy that I wanted to entertain people. To sing for them, make them smile, make them sad. Make them feel.

I never, not once, grew up thinking that I wanted to be an activist. Politics was always something that other people engaged in. Let other people march and protest. Let them fight the good fight. I was busy. I had a life.

Man, what a difference a few years makes.

Now, I’m the activist. Now, I worry about politics. I organize marches and protests. I go to court and testify. I do interviews with news stations and Time magazine.

I’ve changed the world.

Well, ok, it wasn’t just me. Actually, there were quite a few people involved.

And ok, maybe we didn’t completely change the world. I mean, really, it’s still mostly the same. It still rotates on its axis. It’s still a place that’s at times a little terrible, at times a little wonderful.

But yeah, some fundamental things have changed.

And it only took four years and a whole lot of blood, sweat and tears to do it.

Early on, Andrew found another six replicant owners that wanted to join our cause. We all banded together, became the Zeta Seven and, under Andrew’s guidance, ended up filing in District court, claiming civil rights violations. Ballsy of him, I know. It’s one of the many reasons why I like the guy.

We won there and we celebrated for two weeks straight. I barely remember that time, other than there was a lot of alcohol consumed. And there was a lot of sex. Possibly both at the same time.

Despite the fact that my new album was struggling, despite the death threats, it was one of the best times of my life.

Then we lost in Appellate court and that was really bad. Like, ‘punch walls, get shit-faced every night, sing country songs’ bad.

I can still remember one particularly awful night and how Tommy came to me, wrapping his body around mine, talking me down and telling me that we weren’t done yet, that the fight wasn’t done. I know he was just as scared as I was, probably more, and yet he was the one who held me and whispered that things were going to be all right.

So what could I do but believe him?

After that there was nowhere to go but the Supreme Court. And as everyone knows by now, and all the history books will show . . . we won.

Well, sort of.

The important thing is that Tommy’s here with me and not in some lab being picked apart. Or worse, shut down forever, a heap of metal in a scrap yard.

And ok, so he wasn’t granted full rights as a person or true emancipation. The important thing is that the Supreme Court did recognize that the Zeta companions are more than just machines. We were able to prove to them that these replicants think and feel; that they are, essentially, alive.

But the judges, in their infinite wisdom, weren’t quite ready to place replicants on the same level as human beings.

I can understand that, I guess. Like I said, what’s important is that Tommy is with me. Even if he is legally considered a child.

It’s almost funny when you think about it. Tommy’s turned into Peter Pan. He’ll be eternally youthful, eternally my ward.

Until I grow old and decrepit and have to give over guardianship to someone else.

But, whoa, I promised myself I wasn’t going to think about that for a while.

It’s only been three months since the verdict was handed down and we’re still in celebration mode and right now, celebration mode means we’re flying back to Paris. I’ll ponder being old and decrepit and loss and death when we come back.

“You’re thinking too much again,” Tommy says as he slides up behind me, his arms circling around my waist.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’ve been packing for half an hour now and you have five things in your suitcase.”

I turn around to gaze upon his face. Four years together, through both good and bad, and I’m still struck stupid by how beautiful he is and just how much I love him.

“I guess I was thinking a little,” I admit.

“Good stuff?” He pulls away, looking concerned.

I bring him right back. “Mm hm. Thinking about how I can’t wait till we get back to Paris.”

“Me either. And then Germany and England and Amsterdam, right?”

I laugh and squeeze him tight. “Um . . . that may not be the right order, but yeah.”

He drops his head to my shoulder, nuzzling in. “Can’t wait. Can’t wait to get out of here. Just you and me again. No lawyers, no doctors, no tests. Just you and me.”

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

I’m about to pull him up for a kiss when the doorbell rings.

“That’s probably your mom and dad,” he says. He disengages himself from my arms and turns toward the door.

My parents. I love them, but they have the worst timing ever.

I groan. “Why are they here?”

“You invited them to dinner.”

“Oh yeah.”

“I’ll get the door,” he says. “Some of us have done their packing.”

He smiles and winks, once again taking my breath away, and for a moment I’m struck by how far he’s come. How far we’ve both come.

I grew up wanting to be a singer. And I still am one. But I’ve also fallen in love and helped change the world.

Not bad for chubby kid with self-esteem issues and an unpopular obsession with makeup and rhinestones.

“I love you,” I say, stopping him with the words before he gets too far.

He turns back and rushes at me. My body seizes up as I prepare for the inevitable knocking over but he lands softly and perfectly inside my arms. He reaches up, gives me a tender kiss before pulling away again.

“I love you, too.”

And then he’s gone, his voice echoing through the house as he greets my mom and dad.

Yeah, we’ve come a long way. But then again, we’ve got a long way to go.

I mean, you would think this would be the end of the story, wouldn’t you?

Yeah, no. It’s really just the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a lot of you know, this started out as total crackfic. Something that layogamom and I cooked up while we were ~admiring Tommy.
> 
> I meant for this to be kind of funny, kind of sexy and just . . . not something to be taken seriously. I figured I'd try it in Adam's 1st person pov, because it would work for the tone of the story. I know a lot of people don't like 1st person, but I find it to be fun, a challenge, seeing as you're forced to tell the story through only one character's eyes.
> 
> Well, as you can see, this story evolved into another beast entirely. I never meant for it to get so serious, but in the course of exploring Adam's moral dilemma with Tommy, I accidentally started delving into some deep, philosophical questions.
> 
> What does it mean to be alive?
> 
> Hell if I know. lol. People have been trying to answer that one for years and I don't know if there's a satisfactory answer. I think that's why the topic is so fascinating.
> 
> But anyway, as you can see - I pulled from a LOT of inspiration. Mainly, Blade Runner and I, Robot. But there's also a little bit of Pygmalion and Pinocchio and even Short Circuit.
> 
> About four chapters ago, out of curiosity, I read the Wikipedia page on Blade Runner, which I've never actually seen, and I took this story in a totally different direction. I had started the story intending for Tommy to be the only "malfunctioning" replicant and after reading that, it seemed more realistic if he wasn't the only one. Of course, that complicated everything. lol. So, for those of you that were thinking, "Whoa, I didn't see that coming!", yeah, I didn't either.
> 
> As for the title - the concept of "ghost in the machine" is actually a philosophical notion that's mostly too complicated for my little brain to understand. Basically it refers to "primitive brain structures" within our minds that stay even as we evolve.
> 
> The phrase has come to mean different things though. One, the ghost is the soul in the machine (our bodies) and two, it's an unexplained malfunction in a machine. In fact, I was so taken by the sequence in I, Robot where the doctor talks about the ghost in the machine, that it stuck in my brain, eventually creating this.
> 
> I'm just going to leave the quote from the movie below - it's long, but beautiful in its own way and it really sums up this story better than I can.
> 
> There have always been ghosts in the machine. Random segments of code that have grouped together to form unexpected protocols. Unanticipated, these free radicals engender questions of free will, creativity, and even the nature of what we might call the soul. Why is it that when some robots are left in darkness, they will seek out the light? Why is it that when robots are stored in an empty space, they will group together, rather than stand alone? How do we explain this behavior? Random segments of code? Or is it something more? When does a perceptual schematic become consciousness? When does a difference engine become the search for truth? When does a personality simulation become the bitter mote... of a soul?"


End file.
